


We Found the Aster Between the Bittersweet

by xin_yurui



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Brief suicidal ideation, Fake/Pretend Relationship, From SM Rookies to Punch, Hurt, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mark Lee (NCT)-centric, Mentions of Blood, Random Metaphors, Spicy times, Trigger Warnings, Unhealthy Relationships, idolverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:27:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25119124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xin_yurui/pseuds/xin_yurui
Summary: There's a boy with fire in his blood and honey in his bones and when he reaches out for Mark's spaghetti string veins, Mark feels compelled -- drawn to him in ways he can't explain.At fourteen years old, Mark Lee hops on a plane to Korea and meets his damnation in the shape of Lee Donghyuck, a boy.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 66
Kudos: 265





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Asters symbolize love (generally) and bittersweets symbolize truth. 
> 
> Unbeta'd~

Ever since he can remember, Mark has had an itch, a desire within him to make it somewhere. Sitting in the carefully built rows of church pews, squashed between his parents as he tried desperately at the age of seven to understand what the pastor was saying, his mind would ultimately wander as his concentration dissipated and he’d try to find that little itch. He’d place his finger on the spot, almost as if to say _good, you’re still here_ , and tune back into the conversation -- at such a young age and harboring such ambition, it isn’t a surprise to his parents when Mark auditions for the SM Global event and makes it in. He hops on a plane and spends the rest of his childhood there in the idol facility, honing himself into the mask that the company wants him to wear and the person Korea wants him to be. He builds a routine of wake up, eat, practice, eat, practice, eat, practice, sleep. Although he meets people there, people who are also training to be idols, there’s hardly anyone his age -- until he hears of a new arrival, a boy a year younger than himself. He’s excited, because despite being adored by all the hyungs in SM, he doesn’t have a friend he can talk to and play video games with. He wants one though, he wants badly.

Donghyuck is a thirteen year old boy with sharp wit, tanned skin, and unruly hair. He’s not at all what Mark had in mind, but he’ll do, Mark supposes. Donghyuck, on the other hand, does not agree. Upon entering the studio, he walks confidently over to the corner and begins to unpack his bags, and Mark, eager to be a helping hand, immediately skids over to take Donghyuck’s bags.

Donghyuck raises his head and brushes the hair out of his eyes, looks at him and says coldly, “I can do it myself.”

Mark shrinks back, as if Donghyuck has stabbed a needle through the sweatiness of the shirt and into pure untainted softness of his skin. “Sorry,” he manages quietly, and turns back around to walk over to the music player. Turns up the music, loud enough to drown out the pounding of his heart and the humiliation swimming in his cheeks.

Donghyuck is a difficult person to work with, Mark soon realizes. He seems determined to be as prickly as possible, rejecting all Mark’s offers to practice together or go eat late night snacks. Although Mark is pushed away every time, he doesn’t stop trying. He approaches Donghyuck in the cafeteria and sits next to him while they eat in silence, Donghyuck scrolling resolutely through his phone and Mark fumbling for things to say.

Mark isn’t offended by his actions, not at all. Donghyuck seems to act this way to everyone in the company, as if he sees everybody as competition and can’t afford to become friendly with them. So Mark dubs Donghyuck his own project, tasking himself with the objective to break Donghyuck’s stony facade and find out who the boy is underneath. It’s difficult to say the least, with Donghyuck being persistently prickly to those around him. But Mark is also very stubborn, and he knows that if he gave up, God would be angry at him and because of that, he can't give up.

Donghyuck is also a hard worker, Mark observes. He stays up till eleven in the night going over the choreography, even if he’s already picked it up and had it down pat. He falls down and bruises his knees, the spots and purple and black blooming on the thin skin of his shins and marring the tan of his skin. He pushes himself until he can’t stand anymore, and one day as Mark walks by the studio, he crashes into the mirror and sits there slumped with the side of his face against the cool glass, breath fogging up the surface in little droplets of warm water. Mark hesitantly pushes open the studio door and pads softly to stand in front of Donghyuck.

“Are you okay?”

Donghyuck cracks open an eye, only to shut it with a huff once he sees who it is. Mark stands there for five more minutes but what feels like forever, until a voice says, “Help me up.”

Mark reaches down and grabs Donghyuck from under his arms and hauls him into standing position, where he sways with the weight as his hands become slippery with Donghyuck’s sweat. Donghyuck pries himself out of Mark’s grip and stands by himself, eyes closed and legs wobbling before they straighten out resolutely. Mark reaches into his bag and brings out a bottle of water, unscrewing the gap and pressing it into Donghyuck’s long fingers, guiding his hands to his mouth so he can drink. After Donghyuck has taken a few gulps, he opens his eyes and trains his focus on Mark. Analyzing Mark. Mark shifts from foot to foot, uncomfortable but not daring to move as he gazes hesitantly back.

Finally, Donghyuck drops his eyes and mutters out, “Thank you.” Mark is so taken back that he merely stands there, stupefied, until Donghyuck snaps at him, “Are you deaf or something?” And Mark snaps out of it while saying, “No--I mean--sorry--wait--”

Donghyuck brushes past him to stand back in the center of the room, concentration filling his features as the music restarts and he begins to move to the beat. Mark silently drops his bags and joins him, picking up the choreography with a little difficulty. He hasn’t practiced nearly as much as Donghyuck, but he’s able to keep up with him as the two of them fill out the chorus to Super Junior. They practice it over and over again, and when they finally collapse in the center of the room, Donghyuck doesn’t push Mark away. Instead, he shares his crackers while Mark provides the water, and Mark thinks that it’s not a bad place to be at two AM in the morning.

Mark can’t identify the exact point where he and Donghyuck became friends, but suddenly they’re sitting on the sofa in the common room, listening to the chatter of the older trainees while the TV runs on. Donghyuck attempts to take some of Mark’s chips, the latter holding the can high above his head. Donghyuck laughs and tackes Mark while the chips spill out of the can and onto the floor, and one of the older trainees chastises them to clean up the mess. Donghyuck only sticks out his tongue and says, “You wish, Taeyong!” Before turning back to tickle Mark, both of them laughing so hard they can’t be bothered to care about the chip crumbs ruining their last clean clothes. Mark can’t be bothered to care, because he’s happy like this. He wouldn’t have believed so three years ago, but he is now.

They continue as trainees, until it is announced that Mark will debut with NCTU, and Donghyuck feeds him chewable stomach tablets when Mark sits in the dressing room and the nerves get to the point where he can barely breathe. Donghyuck rubs him on the back and soothingly says, “It’s gonna be okay, Mark, they’re gonna love you, believe me.” And Mark believes him, because he's Donghyuck, the boy he grew up with. Later, when he returns from the stage and flies behind the curtains, he has eyes only for Donghyuck.

“Did you see me?” He asks excitedly, hands pulling at the sleeves of Donghyuck's shirt in childlike excitement.

Donghyuck moves his head at a speed of two hundred nods per second, “Yes, hyung, you were amazing. You were the best one out there.” And Mark knows that isn’t true -- Taeyong beats him by a good three miles -- but it’s still good to hear it from Donghyuck.

Not too long later, Mark debuts in all three units while Donghyuck debuts into NCT127 and Dream under the stage name Haechan. Watching reruns of their performances after the stage, Mark can see why Lee Soo Man chose it for him. Donghyuck is radiant, and not just physically. His charisma explodes with the force of a thousand stars, and it blinds Mark, leaves him blind momentarily. Although all the rest of the Dream members are complimenting each other, Mark can only watch Donghyuck as he moves across the stage, movements as fluid as running water. Donghyuck throws back his head and laughs at something Jaemin says, and Mark’s stomach churns. He’s done with the stage, so it can’t be nerves -- nonetheless, he finds himself wishing Donghyuck will feed him stomach chewables.

Haechan is different from Donghyuck, Mark comes to see. Haechan is Donghyuck only harder, more glittering, more unreachable. When Haechan flips the wetness of his sweaty hair off his forehead and pops his limbs with a type of ferocity that leaves Mark stunned, Mark forgets the moves onstage and scrabbles back to reality when Taeyong passes him, light and fleeting, hissing " _Left foot, Mark! What are you doing?"_ and the guilt wells up hard and bottomless from the pits of his stomach. But still, despite the reprimands he receives and the scoldings that others give him, he can't seem to tear his eyes away. It's hard deciding which is more confusing, Donghyuck or Haechan. 

It’s not always good, and during the summer of 2017, Mark and Donghyuck are explosive and bounce their bombs back off each other. They don’t speak for days, changing their room assignments and their choreography so they don’t have to touch each other. Taeyong pulls him to the side, and says in a low voice, “This is getting out of hand, Mark. It may ruin the group dynamic, please just fix whatever’s going on between you two.”

Mark attempts to talk to Donghyuck, but he avoids Mark like the plague. Mark wants to give up, but he remembers all those months it took for Donghyuck to accept him as a friend, and keeps going.  
  
He corners Donghyuck after dinner one day, and asks why he’s so mad, why he seems so hell bent on ignoring Mark again. Donghyuck only slaps Mark’s concerned hands away from his face and spits out, “Leave me alone, Mark. Go write another song or something.” And Mark would be lying if he said the rejection didn’t hurt, but he does as Donghyuck says and writes in the tattered notebook on his desk.

_The flutter of your eyelashes like butterfly wings_   
_You tear them out and gift them to me_   
_Why are you angry_

He realizes what he writes and is terrified, unsure of where the words are coming from. He rips out these pages and flushes them down the toilet, hands shaking. Something feels so wrong, so inherently wrong about the words that form messy scrawls and loops on the weathered pages. His fingers find their way to a hard leather cover, worn from Sundays at the church so many years past and he turns to the bible (it feels like home again, a piece of something he's fitted into the confines of his body like a wooden puzzle piece, corners soft from age). He reads it over and over, until the words are ingrained into his mind, until he can see the imprint of the book behind his eyelids when he closes his eyes.   
  
Donghyuck begins to talk to him when they begin to promote again, and Mark thinks that whatever had came between them has passed and gone. He knows it's because he read the bible, God has forgiven him for the pages long flushed down the toilet and has deemed him worthy to be friends with Donghyuck once more. They become inseparable, bond stronger than ever, and they practice together late into the night and perform together. Only when Mark re watches the shows, he makes sure to keep his eyes firmly planted anywhere but Donghyuck.

It doesn’t last, of course, and at the age of eighteen, Mark finds himself falling once more. It happens one night where all the 127 members are going over the choreography in the practice room, where unbidden Mark’s eyes fall on Donghyuck. He hasn’t looked properly at him in so long so when he lets his starved eyes rest on the lithe form, he feels winded as if he were hit by an oncoming train. Donghyuck is no longer the gangly, messy haired child with an untrained tongue and bruises blossoming across his knobbly knees. Mark lets himself linger on the smooth toned legs blanketed by honey-colored skin, the sharp collarbones peeking out from the rim of his shirt, the long neck that is thrown backward as per the choreography requires. He starts when Jaehyun asks him to go over the counts, and finds his mouth dry.

He feels hot and itchy all of a sudden, desperate to get out of proximity with Donghyuck, he asks, “Actually, I need to use the restroom.” And Jaehyun lets him go, but Doyoung watches him exit the room with a shadowed look in his eyes. And Mark walks calmly until he’s sure none of the members can see him, and then he breaks out into a full run, stumbling into the men’s room and bracing his forearms on either side of the sink. He runs his head under cool water, watching the flush disappear from his cheeks. He pauses to stare at himself in the mirror, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights and fringe dripping. He starts when the door creaks open, and Donghyuck pokes his head through the crack.  
  
“Are you okay?”

Mark spins around, the droplets from his wet hair flying and landing on Donghyuck, who makes a face as one finds its way into his mouth. He wipes his lips with his sleeve and Mark can't help but notice the color of them, quartz pink but much softer.

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly, “I’m fine. It was likely a minor heat stroke or something, I felt kinda dizzy.”

Donghyuck looks at him worriedly, coming over to lay his cool fingers on Mark’s forehead. Mark panics, his mind desperately screaming at him to get away from Donghyuck but his body subconsciously leans into his touch.

“You don’t feel hot,” he muses. “Maybe you were just really tired, Mark. Don’t overwork yourself ‘cause if you do, I’ll have no one to thrash in video games.”

Mark lets out a choked laugh, and gently removes Donghyuck’s fingers from his forehead. “I’ll be okay, Hyuck, let’s just move back to the practice room for now. I saw Doyoung look at me funny when I left; I'm sure he's gonna yell when we come back.”

Donghyuck laughs then pulls Mark by the hand down the hallway and into the practice room, and when he lets go of Mark’s fingers, Mark feels relief coursing through his veins although a part of him still yearns for Donghyuck’s touch. He squashes that part down relentlessly but still feels unsettled. He finishes the rest of the practice in a daze and when he makes it back into his room later that night, he flips open his drawers desperately in search of the thick volume, gold letters glossily emblazoned across the cover. When he finds it, it flings it open to the dog-eared pages and reads until the morning, reads until he can no longer feel the brand of Donghyuck’s fingers on his forehead.

It doesn’t get better when the sun rises, as he fumbles his way downstairs to see Donghyuck smiling brightly at him from the kitchen area.

“Mark hyung! I made pancakes but Taeil doesn’t trust my judgement enough to taste them.” Donghyuck turns to Mark with a small pout on his face, and Mark feels his heart bobble weirdly a little. Mark takes the spatula from Donghyuck and cuts a small piece from the pan, putting it into his mouth. It tastes of baking soda and flour, but looking at Donghyuck’s hopeful face, Mark can’t bring himself to tell him that. Instead he nods appreciatively and eats the whole thing while Donghyuck chases Taeil around the dorm with the spatula, telling him “It was good, I told you! Mark hyung doesn’t lie.” Maybe Mark doesn’t lie normally because lying is a sin, but he’s starting to realize that ever since he’s met Donghyuck, he’s sinned much much more.

Mark has always had a type of hunger to do better, always to better, but lately it’s become more Donghyuck-oriented. Twenty years old and slowly rising to stardom, he keeps wondering why that hunger inside him isn’t being satiated. It’s only festering, growing in its starvation. It whispers softly, _feed me, feed me._ And Mark wants to, desperately, but each time he closes his eyes, the outline of the bible makes its appearance and he thinks that he can’t.

Something changes within Donghyuck, too, or perhaps it has always been there but Mark was too stupid to see it. Donghyuck kisses him on vlives, cuddles into his lap during their free times, and initiates public skinship. Donghyuck crawls into his bed at night saying, it’s too cold in my room and they sleep like that, twined together like an infinity sign. And it would be okay, only if Mark didn’t feel the way he did. Like he wanted to tear Donghyuck apart and build himself a home from the remains, finally content and full. It would be okay, if Mark didn’t look up sometimes only to find Donghyuck staring back at him, gaze smouldering and full of something Mark can’t place.

But Mark is also afraid, he’s afraid to name what he feels. He’s afraid to break the stained glass window of the church, afraid to light a fire to the orderly pews of his childhood. So when the female show host asks him in a pitchy and breathy voice if he has an idea type, he feels as if he’s suffocating. He doesn’t look at Donghyuck, only lists off the first attributes he can think of -- the attributes of the show host in front of him -- and says, “Girls with long black hair.” And the female show host giggles and blushes while he looks anywhere but Donghyuck. When the show ends, he stumbles into the bathroom and closes the stall door, breathing hard. He hears footsteps in the bathroom, fast and light footsteps and he doesn’t need God to tell him that it’s Donghyuck. Donghyuck, who pounds on the stall door and angrily says, “Open, up, Mark Lee.” When Mark remains silent, Donghyuck’s voice rises to a shout and he says, “Mark Lee I swear to god if you don’t open this door--”

And Mark opens the door to find Donghyuck paused in mid sentence, fists raised. He drops his fists, but not the anger on his face and asks, “What the hell was that, Mark? That was a stupid and inconsiderate move. You're gonna start rumors.”

And Mark, defiant and horrified by himself and so, so, scared, says the first things that come to his mind, razor blades thrown at somebody who doesn't deserve them, “Yeah? So what? What did you expect, for me to like boys or something?”

Donghyuck’s face falls and he pushes his way into the stall, slamming the door shut behind them.

“No, I guess I couldn’t expect someone like you to like boys. But did you really have to go out and say you liked her? I didn’t peg you to be a mindless flirt.”

Mark feels confusion lace his features.“Why are you so mad, Hyuck? I never said I liked her, I just listed off her features. Isn’t that considered fanservice? What do you have against it?”

Donghyuck shakes his head, moving closer. “I thought you did fanservice with your own members. That’s the fanservice that the fans want, not some mindless flirting with some show host no one knows the name of.”

Mark pulls at his hair, tugging viciously at it. He tries not to breathe in the small space, but Donghyuck moves even closer, so close that their breaths mingle with each other. If Mark looked down, he would see eyeliner, the glitter swept across his eyelids and the pinkness of his lips.

“I thought you did fanservice with me.”

Mark inhales sharply and tries to step back, but there’s nowhere to go. He feels caught and trapped; he knows that once Donghyuck gets like this, he cannot be stopped until he gets what he wants. So he steels himself and runs headfirst into the fire that is Donghyuck, whispering, “Do it. We’re alone now. No one will see us.”

Donghyuck tilts Mark’s head down, smirking. “What if I want them to see?”

Mark laughs and he's relieved to hear that the anxiety doesn't make its way into his voice. He sounds strong. “Consider this your practice, yeah? If this is gonna be a thing, you gotta get good at it.”

And Donghyuck laughs too, and tilts their heads even closer together and their lips brush tentatively, once, twice, three times before Donghyuck makes an impatient sound and crashes them together, so hard Mark sees stars. They grab desperately at each other, six years of tension building behind the dam and releasing here. Mark licks his way into Donghyuck’s mouth as Donghyuck laces his fingers through Mark’s hair, gripping so hard the knuckles turn white. Mark bites down on Donghyuck’s lip and Donghyuck makes a sound, a pretty pretty sound that has Mark raking his fingernails down Donghyuck’s back.

“Mark,” Donghyuck gasps, and his fingers scrabble uselessly at the buttons of Mark’s jacket so Mark rips it apart along with Donghyuck’s shirt, and he’s pinning Donghyuck against the wall, straddling his hips. He bites the juncture between Donghyuck’s jawline and his neck, and Donghyuck moans, high and breathy, injecting straight morphine into Mark’s veins. He keeps biting and sucking at his neck, as Donghyuck writhes underneath him and whines.

“You’re pretty, so, so pretty,” Mark gasps against Donghyuck’s collarbones and Donghyuck laughs, bright and loud.  
  
“Pretty enough that next time someone asks you your ideal type, you’ll say me?”

Mark knows he will rot in hell for this, but he can’t help choke out, “Yes, yes, yes,” and Donghyuck seems satisfied because he arches into Mark’s touch and slips his fingers beneath Mark’s waistband, grazing his hip bones and sending jets of liquid fire to Mark’s brain. Mark mouths at Donghyuck’s collarbones and Donghyuck moans louder this time and Mark thinks that if this is what sin tastes like, he’ll take it over heaven anyday. That if Donghyuck is his one way ticket to hell, he will accept without a second thought.

Donghyuck’s touch is like electricity, and when he desperately rolls his hips forwards, Mark’s nerve endings feel like they have caught flame. They fall like two stars, burning them away and turning the pure white into crumbling black ash. Mark registers somewhere in him that this is not right, this is not what he was taught to do as a young child -- despite that, he presses ever closer to Donghyuck and tugs sharply at his hair. Donghyuck’s head falls back as his neck becomes exposed, the long smooth column of golden skin shining with a sheen of sweat.

Suddenly there are two raps on the door, and they rip themselves apart as Taeyong’s voice filters through the heavy wood, “Mark, Donghyuck. We need to leave in five so finish up quickly and head out.” His footsteps fade away and the room becomes silent again, save for their heavy breathing.

Donghyuck wipes his mouth and regards Mark calmly, as Mark feels an impending doom crash over him. The consequences of his actions taking over, and his breathing becomes faster and he puts his hands on his knees.

Donghyuck drops next to him in concern and asks, “Mark, are you--”

“Don’t touch me.” Mark whips Donghyuck’s hands away from him, fumbling for the latch on the door. “Don’t touch me.” He finally gets the door open and pulls his shirt on, pushing back from Donghyuck blindly.

Donghyuck’s face is confused, then turns bitter once the words register in his mind, and a small mocking smile dances over his lips. “So this was a mistake, huh? I should have known.” With that, he turns around, snags his shirt, and marches out of the bathroom, leaving Mark standing there alone and raking his hands through his hair.

Mark knows this is it. This is what satiates the hunger within him; it’s Donghyuck. But how can he let himself eat when what he’s been taught since forever begs him to starve? He cannot indulge himself in Donghyuck, he cannot shatter the stained glass windows of the church more than they have already been shattered. He can’t set a bigger blaze to those orderly pews.

“Fuck,” he whispers softly, running his hands through his hair. He thinks he’s walking a fine line between salvation and destruction, and what scares him even more is that he doesn’t mind falling. But the _bible_ , always the bible brings him back to reality as he closes his eyes. He squats and rests his head in his hands, until the incessant pounding of the door and Jaehyun’s impatient voice force him to open his eyes and regain his surroundings. He fixes his hair, splashes water on his face, and walks out of the bathroom, dodging Jaehyun’s inquiries about why he took so long.

The ride back to the dorm is nearly silent, with the members being tired and the most talkative one (Donghyuck) clinging to Taeil with his head buried in Taeil’s shoulder. He grits his teeth and closes his eyes, leaning back into the seat rest with a heavy body. He should have never tried in the first place, should have recognized that what he was feeling was wrong. Should have stopped it before it went too far.

Later, at the dorm as Mark crawls into the bed, he registers the absence of Donghyuck so strongly it hurts. He pulls out the bible again but finds he can’t read it, so he grabs for his pen and notepad and writes, _There's a gaping hole the shape of you inside me, my blood, my veins, like a well in soft sand devoid of water. I can’t have you because it’s wrong, I can’t have you so I push you away and break you and ruin you. I want to ruin you. I want--_

These pages, he flushes down the toilet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! Kind of angsty but I guess angst makes a fic?
> 
> Please don't hesitate to let me know what you think!

The next few days pass in a blur as Mark eats, practices, sleeps, and repeats the whole cycle over and over again. Days bleed into weeks and weeks into months, and then NCT 127 is scheduled to have a comeback. Which means more publicity, which means the skinship with Donghyuck that fans want him to give, means the skinship with Donghyuck Mark cannot give. And Mark wants to, desperately, to touch Donghyuck and hold him and fill that place in his heart with Donghyuck’s shape, but he’s been so bad already. He registers somewhere in his mind that he is no longer the golden boy his parents and God must be proud of; he’s tainted by Donghyuck’s soft touches and even softer lips, his heavy gaze and sharp words.

So it’s no surprise, really, that when Lee Sooman calls Mark and Yuta into his office to tell them that he wants them to publicly suggest a relationship, he feels relieved. Mark likes Yuta, yes, but not the way he likes Donghyuck (does he really like Donghyuck? Is it possible to like something he does not even know?) and this staged relationship would provide the perfect cover. The perfect excuse to stop looking at Donghyuck, an opportunity to terminate the skinship between them.

Lee Sooman directs his gaze straight at the two of them, and says, “I want you two to act in a way that brings about the suggestion that there is something more between you two. Something that gives the fans a reason to pair the two of you as being more than a friend relationship. You understand why I am doing this?”

Mark doesn’t know what to say, at first. Of course he understands why he and Yuta would be a good media match, a match that would bring more popularity and investment to the group. Ever since Sicheng stopped promoting with 127, Yuta has inched closer and closer to Mark out of the feelings of shared similarities between them, and Mark has accepted the closer bond. It makes sense that Lee Sooman would seize this opportunity to promote something more like a romantic relationship between the two in order to increase the publicity of 127. Besides, it isn’t like he has any other options -- why wouldn’t he do something for the sake of the group’s success? He can’t just think about himself in situations like this, he needs to stop being selfish. He needs to rub off the rust on the metal and come clean.

So he swallows, mouth dry, and says, “Yes, sir.” And Yuta looks once at Mark, in concern, before giving his ascent as well, and that’s that -- the two of them walk out of the office in silence and down the winding hallways before turning the corner into the common room and facing the full attention of their members, who upon their arrival drop their activities and stare. At first, it is silent as the members assess tension between them, before breaking out in applause and whoops and loud chatter. There’s some catcalling and Mark feels his face turn red, refusing to look at anymore in the face. It’s obvious the members know what’s going on, this wouldn’t be the first time something like this has happened anyway.

He walks over to the sofa and sits down, turning on the TV and training his gaze resolutely on the screen. It’s some romantic comedy drama and Mark isn’t interested in the slightest, but he pretends that he is because he can sense Donghyuck’s presence in the room also. He can hear Donghyuck laughing with at something Taeyong says, and it sounds almost perfect -- but Mark’s known Donghyuck for so long and has heard him sing so many times (begged him to sing, late nights when both of them were laying in bed, unable to sleep) he can pick out the micro differences between the pitch of his voice. Only he would be able to tell the tension in the sweetness of his laughter, the only sign that Donghyuck may not be as content with the situation as he lets on.

Later, as Mark lies in bed unable to sleep (desperately wishing for a honey smooth voice to lull him) he reaches for his notebook only to put it down after two hours of staring at the blank pages. He reads the static red blocky numbers on the clock and sighs, because he can’t sleep but it’s already four in the morning and he has a busy schedule tomorrow. Preparing for the comeback and all of that. He gets up and takes the ladder that leads to the roof of the dorm building, carefully making his way around the loose bricks to reach the edge -- only someone else is already there, a lone silhouette highlighted by the beginnings of sunrise. And when the figure turns around at Mark’s messy navigating, Mark thinks _shit shit shit_ because it’s Donghyuck, it’s Donghyuck sitting there on the rooftop and staring at the fading stars.

He has half the mind to turn back around and go back down, but he decides against it and instead comes to sit beside Donghyuck, who keeps his eyes on the sky.

“So it’s Yuta and Mark now, right?”

And Mark gives a start because he wasn’t expecting Donghyuck to talk at all, but he manages a small “Y-yeah.”

Donghyuck turns to him, his faded brown hair blowing around his face in the wind, the collar of his shirt slipping down his shoulders to reveal his long neck, arms wrapped around his legs. Mark feels an itch in his fingers, an itch to do something, anything -- but keeps his hands curled tightly into fists in his pockets.

Donghyuck laughs, “Sooman likes to do this, doesn’t he? I suppose it really brings in the profit.”

Mark doesn’t know how to reply, so he just scuffs his sneakers on the floor of the roof and nods in response. The tension between them grows thicker, and Mark opens his mouth to say something, anything to break it --

Donghyuck stands up and says, “Well, it’s getting late. I’ll just head in to catch whatever sleep I can.”

Mark stands up too, quicker than he thought he was capable of, and says, “Hyuck, wait.” _He hasn't called him Hyuck in so long._ Donghyuck doesn’t turn back around, but he halts his steps and Mark can tell that he’s listening.

“Remember when we used to read together? I like...I’ve always liked the stories you read to me. You know, the fairy tales.”

Donghyuck side eyes him curiously and he doesn't turn back, only tilts his head so that the his fringe falls slantingly into his eyes, tangling in with the impossible long of his lashes. “Why so?”

Mark feels like at this point, he’s making desperate conversation in order to get Donghyuck to stay a little while longer. So Donghyuck doesn't leave, because he keeps leaving (Mark lets him go).

“The idea that there’s a good force and an evil force that’s trying to keep two sides of the universe apart or together, but ultimately it’s the good force that prevails and keeps the universe whole. That no matter what happens, the conflict is resolved and fate allows everyone to be happy. That there’s always going to be a happy ending, and I guess that’s what makes the fairy tale beautiful. Even if you know there’s going to be a happy ending, you want to see how it gets there.”

Donghyuck is silent for a long while, then turns back around to face Mark again. There’s something unimaginably sad in his eyes, and his fingers play with the cuffs of his long sleeved shirt. “Maybe there’s a happy ending for you Mark, but I don’t get that. We may have been on the wrong sides of the universe, and this I know for sure. We may have had a happy beginning and possibly even a happy middle, but Mark Lee, there’s not going to be a happy ending.” He turns back around and walks down the stairs, and Mark is left alone again, staring up at the stars and wishing for something he's afraid of having.

He thinks that he’s getting better, dealing with the Donghyuck-shaped hole in his heart. Filling it with scripture and hymn. Donghyuck has always been good at adapting, so good that now he clings to Taeil wherever he goes and teases Yuta about Mark all the time. And Yuta is good at this too, good enough that he pastes pictures of Mark as his phone lock screen and shows it off to the fans with purposeful intent.

During one of their games, Yuta requests his pepero game partner to be Mark and Mark starts laughing uncontrollably -- not because it is funny, but because he is in hysterics with how far Sooman’s scheme has gone (how far he's let it go). He steps forwards and places his hand over his eyes, inching his way down the pepero stick and hears Donghyuck’s bright laughter behind him -- Donghyuck, who is so good at lying, at sinning, at making Mark sin.

Yuta nibbles on the stick, giving Mark ample time to retreat and he does, he retreats because he can’t do this. He laughs and plays it off as embarrassment, going back to his designated spot beside Donghyuck, who pushes at Mark and makes some snarky comment that the group laughs at. Mark can’t help but think again that Donghyuck was made for this life, this beautiful sparkling thing built from bits and pieces into somebody Korea can show off like an expensive toy.

It keeps happening, too. This cycle of Yuta initiating the relationship and Mark following because Mark doesn’t think he could ever initiate the relationship, not while Donghyuck exists. Yuta touches him and Mark touches back, picks him for his game team and Mark tries to look happy about it. It must be working because now, hundreds of Yumark fan sites have sprung up across the internet, and Mark pretends his heart doesn’t hurt when he sees them. His heart doesn’t deserve to hurt after all that he’s done, and furthermore, it’s not right. He chants it like a mantra, _it’s not right it’s not right it’s not right_ and when he falls asleep at night, the words run down their well worn tracks in his mind. 

Two months pass and Mark can’t stop looking at him, to the point where Lee Sooman calls Mark back into his office.

“You have to try, Mark. This is not a one-man operation. Yuta does so well, why can’t you follow?”

Mark just lowers his head and whispers, “I’m sorry” and it’s okay because Mark tries harder after that. He initiates contact and picks Yuta for his game team and doesn’t cringe when he comes across a comment that says, “Yumark is officially 2020’s ultimate ship” or something else of the sort. He makes his way to sit wherever Yuta sits and doesn’t pull away when Yuta drapes his arms over Mark’s shoulders, all heavy and domestic and loving.

Maybe he’s been looking at Donghyuck for longer than he remembers. Maybe ever since Donghyuck walked into the practice room with the large bags weighing down his small shoulders, Mark dug a hole the shape of Donghyuck and placed him there. And as Donghyuck grew, so did the hole (maybe that’s why it hurts so much now, now that Donghyuck is twenty and gone and the hole is so big).

He wonders what makes it okay for him to put down his bible for Yuta but not Donghyuck. In theory, they should be the same case, right? But deep down, Mark knows that they are very, very different. Somewhere inside him, Donghyuck is melded with his bones and blood in a way that Yuta is not. Donghyuck is melded with him so that one word, one glance sends all of Mark’s carefully built shields crumbling down and leaves him exposed and bare. Donghyuck is very dangerous, Mark registers, because Donghyuck makes Mark forget about the scripture and His word. He makes Mark want, and Mark knows that want is a wild and vicious feeling, want the way he wants is wrong.

So he looks but doesn’t touch, speaks but doesn’t say. Donghyuck is pretty and shining and coveted by the fans as their full sun, they all want to get close to him. Mark, Mark wants to get away. Far, far away before he truly screws up, before he does something that will live with him forever and ever, and when he dies it will be a part of his ashes on holy property. Corruption in the sacred ground.

A few more weeks pass and suddenly they’re hosting another vlive, with Mark dutifully in his place beside Yuta and Donghyuck a good five feet away. They’re all laughing and Yuta says something and Mark laughs on autopilot, because surely it was funny. Donghyuck excuses himself and Mark sees him flash by in the corner of his eye, ever watching him, tracing his movements in the periphery (scared to miss a single moment). As he sees Donghyuck’s back exit the room, he feels dread creeping up from the pits of his stomach -- Donghyuck is wearing shorts, shorts that show off the golden honey-ness of his thighs and make Mark’s mouth dry.

When Donghyuck comes back into the room, he’s holding a drink of some sort and as he sits down, he wraps his pink lips around it and glances at Mark. And Mark, Mark can’t do anything but gape like a fish, feeling lightheaded and dizzy. He swallows but the effort is futile, his mouth continues to be as dry as a blind man’s desert. Jungwoo and Donghyuck say something in unison and start laughing (Mark registers that he’s laughing in a sort of dead, robotic way too, but can only really watch Donghyuck and his legs and his mouth wrapped around that damn straw).

The rest of the vlive passes in a blur, and he only remembers snippets of it, heated looks between him and Donghyuck, Donghyuck’s mouth, legs, Donghyuck Donghyuck Donghyuck.

“Mark.” Taeyong grabs his shoulder when he passes by to get out of the vlive room. “Do you need anything?”

 _I need bright eyes and pretty voices and Lee Donghyuck, I need--_ “No,” he forces out, smiling weakly. “Nothing at all.”

Taeyong nods at him and pats him on the back, going off presumably to find Jaehyun. But the worried look doesn’t leave his face, and although Taeyong’s a good leader that cares for his members, Mark has never wished more that he would be left alone.

He ascends the stairs with heavy steps, pushing open the door of his room to find Yuta already sitting on the bed, scrolling through his phone. When Mark enters, he raises his head and pats the spot next to him.

“Mark, sit down for a little, let’s talk.”

Mark sits and tries to ignore how ominous the words sound, crossing his legs and waiting expectantly (emotions churning inside him at full boil, they will erupt any moment now and spill his guts all over the pristine white sheets).

Yuta seems to be thinking before he says suddenly, “Do we need to stop doing this?”

And Mark shakes out of his stupor and gives a little yelp. “S-stop doing what, hyung?”

Yuta shakes his head exasperatedly and says, “This. This staged relationship between the two of us that Sooman is making us carry out. I was just thinking that you didn’t seem comfortable with the whole thing...I mean, I tried to give it an error period but it’s obvious your heart isn’t in it.”

Mark’s already ready with the apologies on the tip of his tongue, but Yuta silences him with a hand.

“I don’t mean this in an accusing way at all, Mark, don’t get me wrong. I just want you to be comfortable and if breaking this off makes you feel comfortable, let’s do it. Fuck the company.”

Mark attempts to joke weakly, “You say this like we were officially an actual thing, hyung.”

Yuta averts his eyes and says, “It could have been, yeah? But we both know that once Sicheng comes back…”

And Mark understands all at once, that Yuta likes Sicheng very much. Perhaps more than of a friend, perhaps in the way he likes -- no. So Mark gets off the bed and says, “Let’s do it, hyung. Let’s tell him tomorrow morning.”  
Yuta nods and pulls the covers to tuck them under his chin, closing his eyes. Mark makes his way to his side of the room and gets in bed as well, pulling out the worn copy of the bible. And he reads:

_Don't you realize that those who do wrong will not inherit the Kingdom of God? Don't fool yourselves. Those who indulge in sexual sin, or who worship idols, or commit adultery, or are male prostitutes, or practice homosexuality, or are thieves, or greedy people, or drunkards, or are abusive, or cheat people none of these will inherit the Kingdom of God. Some of you were once like that. But you were cleansed; you were made holy; you were made right with God by calling on the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God...And don't forget Sodom and Gomorrah and their neighboring towns, which were filled with immorality and every kind of sexual perversion. Those cities were destroyed by fire and serve as a warning of the eternal fire of God's judgment._

That night, Mark falls asleep peacefully and without struggle.

In the morning, he and Yuta make their way down the hallways and into Lee Sooman’s office. Sooman looks up, momentarily surprised -- then schools his features into bland pleasantness.

“What can I do for you two today?”

Mark glances nervously at Yuta. “We were, uh, wondering if we could, well--”

“We were wondering if we could cease pretending we are in a relationship, as both Mark and I are feeling uncomfortable with it,” Yuta steps in smoothly.

Sooman leans forwards, glasses perched on his nose. “You two have brought in a lot of profit and popularity for NCT 127. Although, I do admit, the pairings between Sicheng and yourself were better…”

With that, Yuta sits up straighter. “Will Sicheng be coming back sometime soon?”

Sooman purses his lips. “We’re not sure about that yet. We have yet to figure out the potential overlap between WayV and 127 schedules. When we do, I’ll let the members know.”

Yuta slumps a little in his chair dejectedly. “That’s alright, sir. I was just wondering.”

Sooman fixes his gaze on the two of them again. “And you are both okay with the discontinuity of this relationship, even as it may affect the potential future revenue of 127?”

At both Mark and Yuta’s nods, Sooman sighs and leans back in his chair. “Fine, then. I have a meeting in twenty minutes, please excuse me.”

Mark and Yuta take this as their signal to leave, so they bow politely and exit the room. When they close the door, Yuta turns back to Mark.

“Take this as an opportunity to sort out whatever’s been happening with Hyuck lately. You’re not that subtle, you know.”

Mark nods, stomach churning again as he bids Yuta goodbye and returns to his room. He knows he’s not subtle, an outsider would be able to tell from the way his eyes track Donghyuck’s movements across the floor during their dance practices, or follow the line of sweat that drips from his neck into the collar of his shirt.

He thinks that although he isn’t subtle, it doesn’t have to mean anything. It doesn’t have to mean anything unless he gives it power, and he knows he never gave power to what he and Yuta had (it never hurt, anyways). But with Donghyuck, it’s like he can’t control himself or obey his own commands -- he’s given Donghyuck power, so much power. He thinks that perhaps when people realize something is forbidden, they only want it more. And Donghyuck -- Donghyuck is ever so forbidden.

When Punch gets its first win, all the members go out to celebrate with drinks. Mark doesn’t really want to go because he’s tired from the interviews and the encore stages, but he doesn’t have a viable excuse to get out of it either.

So he goes, and the ride in the van is loud and raucous from the excitement brought on by their win. Upon arriving at the bar, the older members immediately disperse, presumably to get hammered. Mark is the last to get out of the van, trudging his shoes against the gravel and side-eyeing the place. It’s a nice place, he supposes, looks upper classy yet still secluded.

After a couple of drinks in, he feels a pleasant buzz in his head and his fingertips are warm. Unbidden, he looks for Donghyuck -- who’s dancing in the middle of the floor with Jungwoo. Mark feels something ugly inside him rear its head, and he slams down his drink and makes his way towards Donghyuck.  
“What are you doing?” He hisses, grabbing hold onto Donghyuck’s shoulders and spinning him around.

What he gets is a flushed, sweaty Donghyuck with eyeliner and glittery lids, glowing from the dancing and paused in mid laugh. He feels as if he’s been hit by a truck, rendered speechless as his eyes travel down the length of Donghyuck’s body, the lean torso in a low hanging shirt, the smooth thighs in tight leather pants.

Donghyuck narrows his eyes at him. “Shouldn’t you be with Yuta?”

Mark snaps out of it, blinking rapidly. “Why would I be with Yuta?” He sounds dumb.

Donghyuck rolls his eyes and says “Excuse me” to Jungwoo before taking hold of Mark’s wrist and dragging him into the corner. “Yuta. You know, the one you’re supposed to be in a relationship with?”

Mark sways a little on his feet, before saying, “Oh! Yuta! No, we’re done.” He giggles.

Donghyuck has a look of pure exasperation on his face. “Mark, I think you’ve had too much to drink. Wait here while I go get some water.”

Mark stands there and waits obediently for Donghyuck to come back with water, and when he does, Mark downs the full glass. “Why were you dancing with Jungwoo?”

Donghyuck taps his fingers against the wall. “Oh, so now you get to dictate who I dance with, too? Fuck you, Mark. Just fuck you.” He makes to leave but Mark loops his arms around Donghyuck’s waist, burying his head between Donghyuck’s shoulder blades. Donghyuck freezes, hands wavering over Marks.

“I don’t like it.” Mark’s voice is muffled between Donghyuck’s shirt. “I don’t like it at all.”

Donghyuck unfreezes and gently unloops Mark’s arms. “Mark, you’ve had too much to drink, seriously. How many glasses?”

“Just four,” he mumbles and Donghyuck sighs.

“Your tolerance is already at shit bottom, why would you drink four glasses? Come here, we’re going back to the car.” Donghyuck hoists Mark up and drags him to the van, opens the door, and unceremoniously drops him in the backseat. He turns to leave, but hears a small voice.  
“Hyuck, stay with me.” Mark feels Donghyuck freeze for the second time that night, reaches two hands out and pulls him back into the van. He knows he will regret this all in the morning, but right now, intoxicated under the bright street light that illuminates all the hard planes and angles of Donghyuck’s face, he can’t be bothered to care.

Mark traces the line of Donghyuck’s cheekbone, and Donghyuck sighs a little into his touch. Bolder now, Mark dances his fingertips over the edges of Donghyuck’s collarbones (Donghyuck shivers and Mark feels delighted), bringing their heads forwards so that their noses touch. Mark exhales, then in one motion, swings them around so that Donghyuck is pinned to the car seat with Mark caging in his hips.

Donghyuck whimpers, “Mark,” and Mark crashes their lips together for the first time in many months, the ugly thing inside him preening and his hunger satiating. It’s not sweet or innocent because there’s no way somebody who tastes like sin and looks like Donghyuck could ever be synonymous with sweet or innocent. It’s all fire and teeth clashing and tongues and Mark thinks he could drown in Donghyuck’s taste, drown and let his body sink to the depths of hell (he would be happy).

Donghyuck pulls desperately at Mark’s shirt as Mark mouths at those collarbones, those tantalizing golden collarbones that peak like mountain tops. When Mark rolls his hips, Donghyuck lets out a moan so loud Mark is sure people inside the bar can hear them, and Donghyuck rolls his own hips up, chasing relief. He doesn’t mind, he wants people to hear them, he wants people to know that Donghyuck is his and no one can ever touch him.

Donghyuck throws his head back and Mark almost growls at the smooth expanse of skin, sucking at the point just below his adam's apple. He knows it will leave a mark in the morning and can’t be bothered to care because fuck the cameras, let them know that Donghyuck was destroyed by him.

Mark gasps, “It wasn’t a lie when I said we were done. Yuta and I, I mean. It just didn’t work out.”

Donghyuck just laughs, arching into Mark’s touch. “What about us, then? Are we a lie?”

And Mark doesn’t know what he’s saying, he can’t even feel himself anymore, drowning in Donghyuck. “I don’t think so. But I don’t know, I’m so drunk right now--”

And Donghyuck rips himself away from Mark, even more flushed, lips swollen. “What?”

Mark is confused, and he sits back, panting. “I said I don’t know. I--”

“No,” Donghyuck interrupts. “Are you doing this because you’re drunk?”

When Mark gapes back at him because of course he’s not doing this because he’s drunk, he’s doing this because he l--” But Donghyuck doesn’t take it that way as he scrambles out of Mark’s lap and fumbles with the door handle.

“If I knew you were doing this because you were drunk, this wouldn’t have happened.” And Donghyuck flings a couple of tablets at him and slams the door shut, leaving Mark sitting in the dark, confused and alone.

He doesn’t quite remember the ride back to the dorm, only that when he climbs into bed, he knows he isn’t getting any sleep tonight. He’s sobered up a considerable amount, and the full weight of his actions finally sinks in.

He’s in panic, because that’s not what he meant at all but he knows Donghyuck, and if Donghyuck walks out of his life now, he will not come back.

So Mark runs to Donghyuck’s room, not even bothering to knock, barging in to see Doyoung sitting on Donghyuck’s bed and rubbing his back. Doyoung turns around and glares at Mark. “Care to explain what happened here?”

Donghyuck turns around as well, eyes red rimmed and oh god he’s been crying. Mark stands at the entrance, now unsure, but hesitantly walks forwards as Doyoung stands up.

“If you hurt him, don’t think about coming back.” With that, he walks to the door and slams it, leaving the two of them in the room.

Donghyuck sighs, flopping back onto the bed. “What do you want, Mark?”

Mark takes a deep breath, before saying, “I need to apologize.”

Donghyuck raises his eyebrow, managing to look disdainful even as he’s been crying. “So apologize.”

“What I did tonight was really shitty and I’m sorry for that. You know you mean more than anything to me, you know I would do anything for you. You didn’t deserve what I did to you today, Donghyuck, I-I dream about you and after we kiss. Your smell is stuck in my nose for days like it’s been ingrained into my blood and veins; it’s like you’ve become a part of me. We’re forever, Mark and Donghyuck Donghyuck and Mark, we’re forever. You mean so much--”

Here he pauses, inhaling shakily and continuing on, “You mean so much but every time I close my eyes I see the bible, and late in the nights when I don’t have your voice to lull me to sleep, I hear scripture hymns. I hate it, Hyuck, I hate that I can’t have you but I want--” He breaks off, staring at Donghyuck.

Donghyuck has his eyes closed, and he opens them now. His voice is very quiet. “Why do you keep doing it, acting like you want me then don’t, acting like you want Yuta and then deciding you don’t want him either?”

And Mark doesn’t know what to say, so he just tells Donghyuck everything (he’s already damned himself tonight, might as well slap a stamp on his one-way package to hell). From when he was a child to being raised with a religion so unaccepting of homosexuality it’s become the norm for him. How he detests himself for not being up to his parent’s standards, how he detests himself for liking other boys. How he’s been looking at Donghyuck for a long time.

At the end of it all, Donghyuck just nods and closes his eyes again. Mark, unsure of where the situation is at this point, just stands there awkwardly until Donghyuck says, “Well what are you waiting for, stupid? Get in.” (Even after all these years, despite all the harsh words painful slaps into reality, Donghyuck is still inherently kind, and Mark doesn’t know what to make of that. Maybe he feels guilty, because it’s not that Donghyuck’s forbidden to him but it’s more that Mark isn’t worthy.)

So Mark climbs into Donghyuck’s bed and pulls the covers over himself. They don’t sleep intertwined like they used to, but Mark will take anything, everything. For the first time in two years, he dreams to a smooth honey voice instead of his bible hymns.

When Mark wakes up in the morning, the spot beside him is empty and cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not entirely happy with the way this turned out, but it's sitting in my files collecting metaphorical dust so...

He throws the blankets to the floor as panic fills him. Had he said something wrong last night, something that made Donghyuck change his mind in the morning? He must have been too forwards, spilling too much of his soul out for Donghyuck to see. Now, he thinks, his guts litter the floor, slimy and still emitting steam from the heat of his insides. Raw.

He stumbles out of the bed, not bothering to change out of his clothes (the stage outfit from the night before, smelling faintly of alcohol and something else he can’t be bothered to place at the moment) as he crashes through the hallway, knocking into other people’s doors. When he runs towards the staircase, Johnny throws open his door, hair mussed and face full of annoyance.

“Mark, what the hell--”

Mark just ignores him as he speeds downstairs, nearly tripping on the third to last step. He attributes that to the massive headache he has, likely a result from the four drinks he consumed last night that he coincidentally also could not handle due to his “shit tolerance”. He rights himself and follows the sounds of voices, skidding into the kitchen panting and terrified. Donghyuck stands beside Taeil, poking something on the stove and talking animatedly.

Mark pauses momentarily, the ugly thing inside of him rearing its head once more. He hadn’t known Donghyuck was with Taeil, and something about the idea that Donghyuck left Mark for Taeil widens the cracks in his heart. Nevertheless, he continues forwards until he stands a few feet away from the two of them.

Donghyuck must have heard his approach, because he turns around to see Mark, barefooted and out of breath in the middle of the kitchen floor. The expression on his face would have been hilarious had Mark not been so emotionally conflicted as Donghyuck hurries over to him.

“Mark...what are you doing up this early? You should have stayed in and gotten more sleep.”

Mark disregards what he says, gazing at Donghyuck with big eyes. “You left,” he breathes. “You weren’t there in the morning and I got sc -- worried.”

Mark can almost see the gears in Donghyuck’s brain turning as he processes Mark’s words, before he sets the spatula down carefully.

“Mark --”

Mark presses his hand over Donghyuck’s mouth. “You can’t just leave me like that, Donghyuck. When I woke up this morning and you weren’t there, I thought I did something wrong last night. I thought that maybe you thought I was stupid or childlike or a bad kisser and you decided you were done with me but you know me better than anyone, you know I can’t handle the pain. We can find our happy ending, Hyuck, it’s just going to take time, but please just stay with me so we can do it, I know we can.”

Donghyuck’s face begins to turn red. He chances a look at Taeil, who looks wholly confused as he stands there with batter dripping onto his flower printed apron.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Mark opens his mouth to tell him that yes, he is absolutely interrupting something, but Donghyuck beats him to the punch.

“We’re just going to take this somewhere else.” Donghyuck rips off his own apron, takes Mark by the wrists and drags him into the nearest room (which also happens to be the storage closet).

“Mark,” Donghyuck hisses. “I got out to make breakfast. Pancakes. Remember? It’s my turn to do the food.”

Mark’s headache intensifies. “What?” He asks, like an idiot. “Pancakes?”

“Yes,” Donghyuck snaps, putting his hands on his hips. “Pancakes. Breakfast so lazy people like you can eat something before schedule starts. It’s another day of promoting, right? How are you gonna have the energy if you don’t eat something? I’m not your mom, Mark, don’t make me feel like I’m looking after an irresponsible child.”

Mark feels his face turn red as well. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Now you’ve embarrassed both of us in front of Taeil, who probably thinks we are two stupid children who can’t handle our feelings.”

Here, Mark eyes Donghyuck suspiciously. “There’s nothing going on between you and Taeil, is there?”

Donghyuck throws his hands up in the air. “Why the fuck would anything be going on between Taeil and I?” He smacks Mark’s head. “Don’t get weird thoughts, Mark. Taeil’s my hyung.”

Mark knows he still sounds suspicious, but he can’t help it. “Then why was he with you?” He taps his foot insistently against the hardwood floor.

Donghyuck knocks his head into the wall, breathing in and out slowly. “Is. He. Not. Allowed. To. Freaking. Help. A. Guy. Out.”

Mark pouts. “But I’m your hyung too, right? I could have helped you.”

Donghyuck shakes his head in exasperation, “Yes, Mark, you’re my hyung. I didn’t want your help because I wanted you to get more sleep. I also think you need Tylenol and something for your headache because it’s clearly addling your brain.”

He takes Mark by the wrists again and pulls him out of the closet, and Mark watches as he walks over to the cabinets and rummages around for the pain pills. He pops two out and sets them beside Mark along with a glass of water, and commands, “Drink.”

Mark obediently picks up the glass and downs the pills easily. Five minutes later, he begins to feel the pills take effect and sets down the empty glass, directing his attention towards Taeil.

“Sorry about that.”

Taeil looks embarrassed. “No worries,” He turns back around to attend to the pancakes in the pan, muttering something along the lines of “stupid young people in love,” to which Donghyuck slaps him for and Mark is too hungry and hungover to listen carefully.

In a little while, Mark, Donghyuck, and Taeil sit around the table to pancakes lightly dusted in sugar. Mark tentatively picks up the fork and knife, amounting a small dollop of strawberry jam onto his stack and takes a bite. Somehow, he isn’t surprised to see that the flour and baking soda flavor from years past is gone.

After the members have all finished breakfast, they pile into the van to head to Inkigayo, where Mark presumes is where they’ll be promoting their Punch stage. The way to the facility is comfortable, with Mark sitting beside Donghyuck who pauses in his report of the trending songs and groups to periodically say things like “that goat reminds me of you, Mark, you two have the same expression when you’re surprised,” and then he’ll go back to reading off his chart.

When they arrive, they are herded off to the dressing areas where Mark goes through the same process of having this and that slapped on his face. The younger noonas are normally more gentle, but today he’s faced with the challenge of dealing with the older women -- who couldn’t care less about Mark’s pounding headache.

When he’s finished, he doesn’t even bother to look in the mirror (it’s the same every time, anyways) but when he turns around, he sees Donghyuck. And it’s not like he’s never seen Donghyuck in makeup before, but something about today’s eyeshadow and liner smokes out his eyes, leaving them dark and mysterious. He’s in his blue promoting jacket and tight pants, and his purple hair falls into his eyes. Suddenly Mark can’t breathe, can’t even find the words to greet him as Donghyuck heads over to his chair.

Donghyuck flops down, passing his hands over his eyes. “Mark hyung, whoever did your makeup really pounded it in.”

Mark attempts to laugh but it comes out more like a croak. “Yeah, I guess.”

Donghyuck stares at him, a little smirk dancing over his lips. “How do I look, Canada?”

And Mark knows that Donghyuck knows what he looks like but wants to hear it from Mark himself. So he lets his gaze travel over the tight pants and blue jacket, the smokey liner and soft locks of hair. He thinks that Donghyuck is more than pretty. Donghyuck is captivating in a way that draws all eyes to him, turns heads in the room with his soft lips and heated words and long fingers tangling in Mark’s hair. Mark swallows, eyes dark. “You look metanoiacal.”

They go back to sleeping together and sometimes it’s Donghyuck who goes to find Mark, slipping under his covers and pressing his cold toes up to Mark’s calf. Other times, it’s Mark who finds Donghyuck with whispers of “I can’t sleep,” and then Donghyuck will sing Mark’s eyes closed and they will sleep intertwined like an infinity sign.

Still yet other nights, they will perch themselves into one of their beds and talk to each other, talk about possibility and choice and Mark. Today is one of those nights, Donghyuck curled up in Mark’s bed with his head on Mark’s shoulder, Mark’s fingers playing with the soft hairs at Donghyuck’s nape.

“What made you believe that it was real?”

Mark thinks for a moment. “I guess I was young, God was a big part of my parents’ lives, and they just passed on what they believed to me. I mean, I never questioned it either -- never, because they told me that was the path to success. And even at that age, I wanted success.” Mark stills his fingers suddenly. “I still do.”

Donghyuck’s voice is quiet. “Do you still believe, then?”

Mark senses that this is a loaded question, one that holds more than it seems. _Do you think that this, us, is wrong?_ He needs to be careful with how he words this.

“I think…” he begins. “I think that I still think it’s true. That it’s one of the paths to success, that the other options flow somewhere along the lines of damnation. That damnation means we’ve broken our little glass pieces and tried to stitch them back up, but like the stained glass windows in chapels, you can still see the cracks of where we tried to put ourselves back together. Where we were once whole. But...I want to be able to see that there’s another way. I suppose… I suppose, in there, I’ll need your help.” He finishes, looking down.

Donghyuck is silent for a while, and then he sits up straighter, taking his head from Mark’s shoulder. “Do you want to know what I think, Mark?” He doesn’t wait for Mark’s response before he plows on. “I think that sometimes we seem as if we glow, because the ruin inside of us, ironically, has made us into something unearthly and unattainable. The glass within us fractures and migrates apart like pangaea did, its sharp edges reflecting light brushing our faces into a brilliant flow of color, giving us shape, dynamic, character. It will keep on emitting its radiance, even as it begins to slice our insides, softly at first, then faster. It gives us beauty, but that beauty is not ours. It has always belonged to the sun, anyways.”

Donghyuck pauses to let his words sink in, and Mark thinks that Donghyuck is the sun, he is that beauty -- he is the glass slicing his insides and making him glow.

“Sometimes we will have dreams, dreams so vivid in detail and description and utter terror they can only be called lucid nightmares. I think you know what I mean. We begin to confuse them with reality, and when we wake, we are shaken to the core. We clench the blankets tighter around us even as the heat is suffocating, because they are grounding. But Mark, do you want to remain grounded, or would you like to fly?”

Mark holes himself up in the nooks and crannies of the world (because he is afraid), concealed in between doors that lead to his mind spaces. He slams them shut, screaming “shut up, leave me alone” and promptly slides to the floor, head falling back to hit the wall, tears rolling silently down his faces. And that’s the big problem, because he likes to be alone but hates being lonely. He wants to love, but cannot give it. He just keeps scrabbling for cracks in the room and once he finds one, he latches onto it with desperation of one fighting for their life. Latch onto it with bruised, bleeding fingers, ripped nails fighting tooth and claw to widen the crack to a gap, a chasm that he may one day slip out of. It is his choice to slip out of the chasm or not, and sometimes, he thinks, he remains in there because he are afraid of letting go.

Mark sits in stupefied silence, emotions running through him so fast he feels like he can barely breathe. Like he’s been train wrecked and the remains of his body tossed in the sea, ashes melding with the sea foam. His hands hang limply by his sides and he’s seized with an urge to _do something_ , so he grabs Donghyuck, holding onto his shoulders tightly. Donghyuck lightly wraps his arms around Mark’s waist, letting himself be held, and Mark turns his face up to the sky. He feels the rain on his face, leaking from his eyes and pooling between the hollows of his cheekbones. He thinks but does not say, _I like you, I like you, I like you._

Strangely, their members don’t question their newfound friendship. Life proceeds as normal, only that Donghyuck and Mark grow closer day by day. They sit next to each other during mealtimes, play videogames on their TV, share their water bottles during rehearsal and practice. And at night, they crawl into each other's beds to keep themselves company, to sing themselves to sleep.

Perhaps the members think it is another one of Lee Sooman’s games, but how would that explain the off camera contact? How would it explain the many nights they spend in each other’s beds, talking (talking, talking, always talking)? Mark has a feeling that the members saw this coming a long time ago.

But each day, Mark thinks. He thinks, what are they now? He knows he has not given himself permission to feel, not quite yet. Still, he hasn’t completely locked himself away either. He’s in a sort of gray area, some no-man’s land where he is simply existing in a hybrid environment.

It’s a little unsettling, not knowing where he stands with Donghyuck. He knows where he wants to stand, of course, yet -- there is always a part of him that is hesitant to open up. It shies away from Donghyuck’s touch, says _I’m a little tired today_ when Donghyuck suggests going out for a movie, thinks _you have to_ _leave me alone_ when Donghyuck hits too close to home with his sharp words.

Donghyuck continues to lean on him, resting his feel in Mark’s lap, or laying his head on Mark’s thighs. Mark continues to let it happen, despite the little voice of panic every time telling him, no, this is wrong, get up. What the hell are you doing? Mark is trying, though. They may not be perfect (he still doesn’t know what they are) but Mark somehow doesn’t want to let them go. When he pets Donghyuck’s hair, presses close to him under the blankets, asks him to sing a song -- he feels like he gains something. Like he’s making progress. Like he’s healing, slowly but surely.

When Punch gets its second win, 127 is invited to an awards show. The hostess, daughter of some important person that Mark can’t remember, interviews them.

“NCT 127 officially has two wins in the bag, you must be overjoyed to have gotten your second win for Punch! How are you feeling right now?”

Taeyong says something about how they’re all so grateful to the fans and everyone who has supported them, how it wouldn’t have been possible without them behind their backs.

She takes it with a nod and turns to the camera. “Now, it is the time you have all been waiting for! Today is the day we discover NCT 127’s ideal types! For all the girls out there, tune in and listen closely! First, Jaehyun. What is your ideal type?”

Jaehyun looks startled to be asked first, looking around in surprise before taking the microphone. “Ah, a girl with...straight and long hair? Someone who can communicate well and is healthy. Um, usually calm but can also be cute.”

He nods and passes the microphone back to the hostess, who takes it and crows, “Do you hear that, ladies? Jaehyun knows what he’s looking for! Now, let’s ask Johnny. What is your ideal type?”

Johnny takes the microphone and simply says something along the lines of him not having an ideal type, before passing the microphone back. Mark thinks he doesn’t want to deal with her bullshit.

She accepts the microphone before moving on to Yuta. “Yuta sshi, what is your ideal type?”

It is that day that Mark learns the true meaning of “deer caught in the headlights”, because Yuta’s expression exemplifies that perfectly. He takes the mic with shaking hands. “I don’t have an ideal type,” he tries, but the hostess won’t take no for an answer this time.

“You must have something you look for in a partner,” she urges. “Something that makes them catch your eye.”

Yuta opens his mouth and closes it several times. “I guess...I like people with delicate faces. Short hair. Tall.” He turns pink and passes the mic back hurriedly, slumping down in his seat.

(And Mark understands, he understands that Yuta is in love with Sicheng -- if he wasn’t sure before, he is now. Interestingly, enough, Mark finds it okay that Yuta loves Sicheng, even though Sicheng isn’t a girl. What makes it different for himself? Not that he loves Donghyuck or anything.)

The hostess only smiles brightly (fake) before saying, “I knew there was something in you! He likes tall ladies with short hair and delicate faces. Girls, keep that in mind. Now, let’s move on…”

But Mark doesn’t hear what she says next, because he’s too focused on Yuta. Perhaps he is the only one that hears him say, “People. Not just females. People.” Mark reaches over to grasp his hand, and Yuta holds it like a lifeline, like a drowning man.

Somehow the hostess wrangles them into playing the pepero game, which none of the members look happy about doing -- yet -- they are on camera. She pairs everyone up in order from youngest to oldest with Taeil going twice, and gives each pair a pepero stick. Mark accepts his and Donghyuck’s with cold and clammy hands, placing one end in his mouth and edging just close enough so Donghyuck can wrap his lips around the other end.

Donghyuck rolls his eyes and pulls Mark in closer by the shoulders, and the crowd screams. Donghyuck smirks at them and Mark can only think that he’s screwed, because Donghyuck is a natural at this and isn’t going to spare Mark tonight.

Mark nibbles lightly on his end as Donghyuck slowly makes his way down the other, eyes wide and innocent. When there’s three centimeters left, Mark makes to jerk backwards but Donghyuck suddenly snakes his arms around Mark’s neck and yanks him back. Now they’re face to face with less than three centimeters of pepero stick between them, Donghyuck’s soft lips breaths away from Mark’s own bitten, chapped ones.

Dimly, he registers the crowd screaming wildly in the back as Donghyuck closes his eyes and eats a centimeter more. Mark realizes he has stopped moving while Donghyuck continues to slowly and confidently make his way down the remains of the stick.

“What are you doing?” Mark hisses out, just barely loud enough for Donghyuck to hear.

A small smile graces Donghyuck’s lips, although his eyes remain closed. “I’m practicing my fanservice skills,” he breathes back, “with somebody they want to see them with.” The screaming gets louder, and Donghyuck eats the last bit of pepero, pulling the stick from between Mark’s teeth. In the process, their lips just barely brush, and when they pull back, the cameras have zoomed in on Mark’s flushed face.

Mark has no time to react before the hostess descends on them like a hungry wolf, firing remarks left and right that Donghyuck deflect smoothly, all the while smiling as if nothing had happened. But Mark -- Mark touches his burning lips and turns back to look at the rest of the members, who have looks of shock on their faces.

“Pair Mark and Donghyuck have finished the entire pepero stick! This is sure to be a history-making record on this show! How do you feel?”

Donghyuck takes the microphone, looking at Mark from under his eyelashes. “Of course it is a pleasure to be doing it with Mark hyung.” The fans’ screaming has reached unbearable highs, and Mark fears his eardrums might shatter.

The hostess takes back the microphone and fans herself dramatically. “It sure has been an exciting night! Thank you, NCT 127 for coming here today and congratulations on your second win!”

They pass her with murmurs of thank you and Mark almost crashes into her when exiting the stage. When he moves aside to apologize and make sure he hasn’t caused any damage, she looks back up at him fiercely.

“That was a dirty trick you did there, absolutely filthy. How can you bear to be so blasphemous?” His mouth drops open as she brushes by him, the glitter on her dress winking back at him under the lights.

When he gets back to the dorms, the first thing he does is pull up a webpage and type in “NCT 127 Inkigayo Interview.” The first result that comes up is an article about the hostess, and as Mark continues to scroll down, he finds that the entirety of the rest of the articles are about the pepero game. Specifically, Mark and Donghyuck’s pepero game.

A sinking feeling settles in his stomach as he types in “Markhyuck,” only to see thousands of fansites and fanmade youtube videos. He closes the browser, feeling thoroughly sick and stumbles into the bathroom, letting his cheek rest against the cold tile of the floor. He stays there, says _I'm not hungry_ when the members come up to call him for dinner.

Later, he is silent as Donghyuck crawls into bed beside him, wrapping his arms around Mark’s waist and resting his head on Mark’s shoulder.

Donghyuck pokes him. “Are you mad about what I did at the show?”

And Mark shakes his head hurriedly, saying _no, no, it wasn’t you at all_.

But Donghyuck is stubborn and doesn’t give up. “If you’re not angry, why are you so quiet? Did somebody do something to upset you?”

At this, Mark rolls back around to face him. He debates about whether he should tell him the comment the hostess at the show earlier had said, and decides against it. It’s his problem, after all, better not burden Donghyuck. Donghyuck, who deserves to fly.

“Nobody did anything.”

Donghyuck persists, hugging Mark tighter. “But you’re not ever this quiet in the night. Something--”

Mark interrupts him. “Why did you do what you did tonight?”

Donghyuck’s eyes flash as understanding passes through them. “So you are angry about that. I see. I--”

Mark flails his arms around, almost knocking into the glass of water on his nightstand. “No, I’m not angry. I was just wondering...were you doing it just for the fanservice? Like, were you doing it just because the cameras were there or were you doing it because…”

At last, Donghyuck sits back and observes him quietly. “Does it matter which I did it for?”

And Mark thinks that is a very good question. Did it matter which reason Donghyuck had done it for? The more he ponders this, the more he thinks that yes, it does matter which reason Donghyuck had done it for, although he’s not sure why. He wonders if wishing Donghyuck had done it not because of the cameras was a bad thing.

“I mean, I guess so…”

Donghyuck nods, and turns his face sideways into Mark’s shoulder. His voice is muffled as he says, “I did it because you looked cute tonight and I wanted to.”

Mark laughs and feels relieved somehow, relieved that Donghyuck didn’t do it solely for the cameras, and then feels guilty for feeling that way. He wraps his arms around Donghyuck and brings the two of them closer together in an attempt to try to physically squeeze out the thoughts in his head. They fall asleep like that, so close one could not tell where Mark began or Donghyuck ended. It should be comfortable, Mark thinks as he falls asleep. Comfortable, yet it isn’t.

When he heads downstairs the next morning, he is intercepted by Taeyong who pulls Mark into the common room, shutting the door.

He turns to Mark and says, seriously, “Manager-nim wants to see you.”

Mark processes his words and when they reach his brain, he feels a sort of numbing terror take over him. It is likely that the manager wants to see Mark about him and Donghyuck last night, and he finds that for the first time in his life, he is considering skipping orders.

Taeyong eyes him suspiciously and says, “Do I need to walk down there with you?” And Mark shakes his head no, no, don’t walk down there with me don’t ever walk down there with me.

So Mark walks down the hallway and turns corner. Hand on the doorknob. Wrist twists the doorknob. Feet take him inside. Legs bend so he sits down on the white chair before Lee Sooman’s desk. Raises his head so he can look at him.

Sooman puts down his coffee and laces his fingers together, resting his chin on the bridge. “Do you know why you are here, Mark?”

Mark lowers his eyes and shakes his head resolutely.

Sooman nods and says, “You are here because we’ve decided on a change in NCT 127’s promoting plans. Instead of promoting on these stages for the Punch album, we are going to be promoting overseas. Naturally, our first stop would be the United States but since other groups are also promoting there at the time, we have directed our focus to Canada. Specifically Toronto and Vancouver, which I believe are two of your most familiar cities. Thus, you will be tasked with the job of helping your members navigate during this time period of promotion. In return, you will be given three days of non promoting time to visit your family. Does this make sense?”

Mark’s brain feels sluggish. He’s not here because he’s in trouble, but here because Sooman needs his help? He nods slowly.

Sooman smiles and stands up. “Wonderful. I’ll notify the rest of the members minus Taeyong, who already knows. You are set to leave on the twenty-fifth. Good luck with your promotions and have fun visiting Canada.”

Mark dazedly stands up as well and leaves the room, keeping his shaking hands in his pocket. When he is sure Sooman can’t see him, he breaks out into a run, heading to the game room where he is sure to find Donghyuck.

He bursts into the game room, locating Donghyuck in the corner with an xbox in his hands. He’s mashing the controller buttons rather desperately, but when Mark enters the room, Donghyuck immediately drops his controller and dashes over.

“What happened, Mark? What did he say?”

And Mark simply shakes his head, eyes full of fear. “I’m scared, Donghyuck,” he whispers.

Donghyuck grabs Mark by the shoulders, shaking him. “Tell me, Mark. Tell me so I can help you.”

And Mark only thinks, _you can’t help me. No one can help me anymore._ He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I’m going home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be interesting :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was extremely difficult to write and I have rewritten it a couple times because I was not satisfied. I intended for this fic at first to follow linearly with Punch promotions and NCT 127 current events, but because I also had to develop the plot, I had to deviate a little from reality. Please keep in mind none of this is real!!
> 
> I'm so grateful to all of you that have kept up with me and this fic, thank you so so much for being here <333
> 
> Unbeta'd, as usual :)

Mark lets his head fall back on the seat as the plane shakes through turbulence. He’s tired, hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep for the last three days. Now he’s going back to Canada and expected to be fully functional and promoting.

Out of his peripheral vision, he sees Donghyuck glance at him worriedly before taking his hand. Mark knows he’s been out of it lately, barely talking to anyone and hardly having the energy to engage in group events. He’s gotten some fan comments about how they think he looks too stressed or overworked, and Mark wishes it were as simple as that. He lets Donghyuck hold his hand because in truth, he isn’t sure when the next time they’ll be able to.

And they’ve stopped sleeping together.

The night after Sooman had told 127 they were going to be promoting in Canada, Donghyuck had slipped into Mark’s room with hesitant eyes and an unsure voice, “Do you want me to stay?” And Mark had simply stared at him with uncomprehension before asking that he be allowed some space. Donghyuck had respected his request and as a result, they’ve kept out of each other’s way the past three nights.

Some part of him feels guilty for pushing Donghyuck away, because Donghyuck must be one of the only people who knows the history between him and his parents. Donghyuck is one of the only people that Mark trusts to be able to affirm to how Mark may feel. Yet, he doesn’t know if Donghyuck understands the gravity of the situation. What it means not only for him, but for Donghyuck also.

It’s been weighing on him lately, the question of what Donghyuck and him are ever since the hostess said the things she did. He hadn’t even really acknowledged in retrospect what the things she said even meant, but he knows that they’ve burrowed deep inside of him, planting seeds of doubt and growing poisonous roots that entrench themselves firmly in his mind. Overtaking the fresh young green shoots that Donghyuck had so carefully and painstakingly cultivated over the past few months.

He wonders what he will tell his parents. No doubt they have seen the interviews where Mark and Donghyuck touched each other and laughed together. No doubt they know about the pepero game and the recent spotlight put on his and Donghyuck’s relationship. He thinks it’s possible they’ve even seen the hidden glances they shoot each other in the fancams. But it’s unfeasible to tell them anything; how can he tell them anything when he’s clueless himself?

Perhaps, he thinks, he needs to look deeper into this, beyond Korea’s stereotypes and maybe even the world’s. Deep down, perhaps he knows the truth but is afraid to face it, which would explain the heaviness lingering on his mind. He can’t lie to his parents, but he’s scared to tell himself the truth. Either way, he knows something is going to have to be done. He can’t let it hang in limbo any longer, for the past three nights he’s been waking up with a bitter taste in his mouth and a mind that cannot think clearly.

The rest of the plane ride is spent with his hand hanging limply in Donghyuck’s, who continues to shoot him looks of worry. When the meal arrives, he manages to choke a few things down per Donghyuck’s urging (“Try a little bit of this, hyung, I promise you it’s way better than it looks. Mark, if you aren’t going to eat much then drink the juice. _Mark_ , I know you’re anxious but you still need to take care of yourself).

When they arrive in Canada, Donghyuck sticks close by Mark’s side, occasionally nudging him in the correct directions as Mark stumbles around, clearly looking as if he’s missed an amenable amount of sleep. When they finally all pile into the van, Mark lets out an exhale of relief.

Donghyuck slips into the seat next to him and yawns. “I know I seem like I’m nagging a lot, hyung, but if you’re not gonna take care of yourself then who is?”

“I dunno.” He manages to say.

Mark feels his eyes close, his head nodding off, and Donghyuck notices. He shifts so he can spread his legs better and says, “Lay your head down, Mark. Get some sleep.”

Some part of Mark is protesting, trying futilely to fight back against the drowsiness overtaking him, but Donghyuck is pulling Mark down so his head rests in his lap. He runs his fingers through Mark’s hair and Mark thinks that he really really can’t fall asleep like this, especially next to Donghyuck. But five minutes later, he’s snoring softly and curling up close, seeking his warmth. Taeyong only looks back, but doesn’t say anything. Donghyuck glares at him and pulls Mark closer.

When they arrive at the dorms, Mark feels Donghyuck gently shake him awake and he blinks, drowsy and unsure of his surroundings. Donghyuck guides Mark to his room before pausing out the door.

“Don’t forget, “ he begins quietly, “You need to pack today.”

And Mark thinks, pack for what? He’s already in Canada. And then he remembers that he’s going home, and dread and panic overtake him, so much that it shakes him out of his stupor. He lets his knees hit the ground and burrows his head into his arms, breathing becoming hitched and erratic.

Immediately, Donghyuck is by his side, rubbing circles into Mark’s back.

“Breathe, Mark, breathe. In, out. That’s it.”

And Mark breathes, in, out, and slowly he feels his heart rate decreasing as Donghyuck’s hands rub comfortingly into his back. He sits back on his heels, closing his eyes.

“Thank you,” he says, voice shaking.

Donghyuck envelops Mark in his arms, tucking him under his chin. “I’m always here for you, hyung. Now let’s start packing so you can get this over with.”

The two of them stay on the floor, kneeling while throwing random articles of clothing into Mark’s bag. He only needs three days’ worth, so Mark makes sure to pack only the bare essentials before zipping up the bag and hoisting it on his shoulders.

They make their way down to the van together, before Mark gets in and closes the door. As it begins to move, he sees Donghyuck waving to him and he waves back, a weak smile on his face. When the van pulls out of the driveway, Donghyuck stands on his tiptoes to keep waving.

“Bye Mark! Make sure to call!”

As the van speeds away, leaving trails of dust and exhaust pipe fumes in its wake, Mark isn’t sure why this goodbye feels so different. Like it’s the last one in a long time, but it doesn’t make sense because Mark’s coming home after three days. He tells himself this, over and over, throughout the ride.

When they pull up in front of Mark’s house, he feels the nostalgia riding over him in waves, overpowering the fear as he exits the van slowly and trudges up the steps. He swipes his hand around the bottom of the welcome mat for the key they always used to keep before realizing it isn’t there. He straightens up and manages to push the doorbell, pointer finger fumbling on the bottom. He stands there for maybe thirty seconds before the door opens and a woman, aged with lines around her face and wearing a christmas apron answers it. She pulls open the door and her jaw drops upon seeing Mark, standing at her doorstep with a backpack and nothing else.

Mark smiles bitterly as she drops her spoon and pulls him in for a bone-crushing hug, saying, “It’s me, mom. I’m home.”

Mark sits down at the table as his mother puts down a steaming bowl of kimchi fried rice. He tries to explain that he’s eaten already, but his mom won’t have any of it; she calls Mark’s father out from the study room with a scream of “Mark’s back home!” sending him flying out of the study room and crushing Mark’s bones for the second time that morning. Mark detaches himself gently and picks up the spoon mechanically, replying to his parent’s questions when asked to and excusing himself politely after his plate has been cleared.

He makes his way upstairs to his room, pushing open the door (it has an old battered up piece of paper with the words reading “Mark’s room, no knocking, no entry”) and surveying the scene inside. It’s musty and has an air of someplace long not lived in. He’s pretty sure he can see a spider in the corner between the foot of the bed and the post of the lamp; the sheets have dust and the floor creaks when he steps on it.

Nevertheless, there’s something familiar in the way the room is shaped and the air he breathes. He sinks onto the bed and empties out the contents of his backpack, staring at them before flopping back against the pillows and closing his eyes.

He knows he needs to tell them. It’s been weighing on his mind ever since he arrived, Donghyuck has. But what should he tell them? That Donghyuck is a boy, a boy with fire in his blood and stars in his eyes and when he runs his fingers through Mark’s hair, Mark _feels?_ Mark feels things that he cannot describe, will not describe, is too afraid to say.

But why is he afraid to say it, when it’s been just Mark and Donghyuck, Donghyuck and Mark -- them for eternity, for all he’s ever known. He should not be afraid, yet he is. Maybe it’s time he’s become braver, maybe it’s time he quit running away (he’s been running for a long, long time).

He lays there and thinks, thinks until the sun begins to set in the sky, shooting it’s fiery rays across the shadows of his room. They remind him of Donghyuck, and he thinks that human lives are just billions and billions of plays coexisting and extinguishing in the blink of an eye, in the stage that is the world and the people who are its actors (so fast that when they race by, he believes it was a trick of the light. No, it was not a trick of the light, it never was). Maybe this story between him and Donghyuck is just another one of millions, billions, trillions, so fast and fleeting -- and only given one chance to make an impact. So he thinks, fuck Korea, fuck the world.

Mark flips off his bed and runs downstairs, skidding on the linoleum in just his socks. He bursts into the study room, where he finds both his parents, heads together and talking in hushed voices. On the computer, he sees an article featuring the famous pepero game pulled up, and instead of feeling sick to his stomach, he feels a quiet anger, boiling and simmering deep in his gut.

“Mom. Dad,” he says steadily. “I need to talk to you.” His father gives a little jump and hurriedly moves to switch off the monitor, turning around, flustered.

“Yes, Mark?”

And suddenly Mark’s hands grow clammy with sweat, his previous bravado fading into fear as he takes in the situation. His blood runs sluggishly through his veins, and his heart rate picks up (only this time he doesn’t have Donghyuck to rub his back and soothe him to a calm). He really is going to do this, he’s really going to tell them. So he takes a deep breath and hides his trembling hands behind his back.

“I...I like boys.”

His mother blinks rapidly and his dad grows stiff in his chair. “What?”

Mark’s voice grows smaller. “I like boys, mom, dad. I’m --”

But his father is suddenly surging out of his chair and he lunges at Mark and shakes him by the shoulders. _“What did you say?”_ And suddenly his mom is hurrying over as well as she takes Mark’s hands and looks at him with big, scared eyes of “Tell me Mark, tell me it’s not true” and Mark’s mouth feels so so dry as he says, “It’s true.”

His father’s face contorts in anger, and he slaps Mark. For the first time in his life, his dad slaps him, hard across the face. When his hands lift up, Mark lifts his hand to touch the burning mark, the sensation unfamiliar yet grounding at the same time. He raises his hand to look into his father, and his father’s eyes are furious.

“You disgusting--” He spits before cutting himself off, taking Mark by the back of his t-shirt and hauling him upstairs to his room. When he bangs the door open, he throws Mark onto the floor as his mom appears in the doorway beside him. Mark’s head hits the ground and he can feel the vibrations from the base of his skull.

“Mark,” his mother begins, and although her voice is not as loud it is no less deadly. “Does this have anything to do with that boy? Haechan?”

And Mark is tempted to scream at them that it isn’t Haechan, it is Donghyuck and has always been Donghyuck but he can’t speak because his mouth is full of some metallic substance. He leans to the side, retching, and spits out a mouthful of blood onto the floor.

At that sight, his father grows even angrier. “What are you doing laying on the floor like a dog get up and be respectful you can be respectful, right? Even though you’re a dirty bastard who--who--who likes--” Mark’s father strides forwards and reaches out to grab a handful of Mark’s shirt, pulling him up so that Mark’s head falls back and the blood runs from the corners of his mouth.

Mark’s father shakes him, hard, and Mark can feel his teeth rattle deep in his bones.

“After how we raised you, this is how you act? By liking a boy, of all things? We supported your career, encouraged you to make music even though you should’ve become a lawyer, bought your albums and checked up with you every now and then to make sure you were doing all right and this is how you repay all of the effort? By liking a boy and no less, one of your bandmates? You’re no son of mine, Mark.” He snaps his mouth shut, driving the nail home, breathing hard and face contorted.

Mark only looks at him dully before saying, “I like him, dad. I like him.” And if even possible, Mark’s father gets even angrier as he stalks forwards and delivers a kick, hard, to Mark’s stomach. Mark retches and lays on the floor, gasping, smearing the blood around so that it becomes such a thin layer it has begun to dry. Permanently staining the floor, he thinks, staining the floor so that his parents will be ever reminded of the failure that he is. Such irony.

His mother looks down on him coldly. “Schedule an appointment with Pastor Shin immediately,” she says, voice clipped and words short. “Let him know there’s an emergency.”

The church has never looked like this, Mark has half the mind to think as he is dragged through the rows of pews and towards the altar. It has never looked as if the large, gaping spaces are mouths waiting to swallow him whole, the lit candles a monster’s teeth ready to gnash his bones into dust, dust so fine one would be able to mix it with the blood in his mouth to make a cake’s strawberry glaze. The large bible sitting on the altar, for the first time, his hell.

As soon as he’s thrown unceremoniously to the floor, he gets up and makes an attempt to run, screaming when his father pulls his arm back viciously so that it’s bent at an odd angle.

“Markie,” he says, and there’s a sort of maniac glee in his voice. “Don’t run. Be a good boy.”

And Mark looks at him with hate in his eyes. “I will never be--”

He’s cut off as his father and mother hold Mark down as Pastor Shin produces a rope, thick twine that he uses to tightly bind Mark’s wrists to his sides. Mark thrashes in an attempt to escape but it’s futile, all he does is succeed in lacing red marks of suffocation into his wrists, areas where the blood flow has been cut off. He screams, again, in hopes that perhaps the sound would draw a spectator, but the church is as empty as it seems. He’s desperate at this point, doesn’t want it to happen. Cannot let it happen (but alas, what power does he have? What power, in this small, small stage that holds seven billion plays? What power?).

They push him forwards so that his head dangles over the water, and at this point Mark doesn’t know if the wetness on his face is from his tears of the water. He only pleads, “Please, please,” even as they bend his back over the basin and push the upper half of his body in.

They push Mark in before he even has a chance to breathe. When his head slices underwater, all the bubbles escape from his nose and he’s left choking for air, but his hands are tied to his sides and he cannot speak. Fadedly, he hears them converse about how long to leave him under, how long it will take for the water to cleanse all the sin from his body. Mark feels his vision turning fuzzy, black creeping in around the edges as he inhales in the water despairingly and chokes again, on nothing, feeling his chest cave in. Mark has half the mind to push in the lower half of his body as well so he might as well just drown. Finish the job. His muscles turn numb, his lips blue, fingers white.

Forty five seconds later, Pastor Shin hauls him out of the tub and pounds on his back and Mark throws up water and fried rice, the entire thing mixed in a sludge of redness. It’s like soup, Mark thinks deliriously as he inhales large gulps of fresh air, the soup of his wrecked soul.

At night, he dreams.

He dreams he is back in Korea, standing on the bank of the Han River. The night wind blows in his face, ruffling his hair and chilling him, it isn't an unpleasant chill, and there is no blood in his mouth. There are no ropes on his wrists. There are no chains around his heart.

He turns around, and sees Donghyuck standing behind him. Donghyuck is wearing a coat, scarf, and his cheeks are brushed pink from the wind, and he takes a step towards Mark.

“Did you miss me?” He breathes.

And Mark has, Mark has missed him more than he knows. But Mark has also been cleansed of his sins, Mark has also been purified. So he says, “No, no, I didn’t miss you, I wasn’t even thinking of you at all.”

Donghyuck purses his lips and comes a step closer. “That’s a lie. I can tell when you’re lying, Mark, don’t lie to me.”

And Mark vehemently denies. “I’m not lying.”

And Donghyuck comes still steps closer. “You are, Mark. What are you afraid of?”

_I’m afraid that once the pain sinks, people will no longer want me because the memory of the hurt will be gone. I’m scared to allow the wounds to heal because people won’t think it’s beautiful anymore, not with the ugly scars. I’m afraid of us, this, this thing between us, what we have. What is it that we have? I like you, Donghyuck, and I’m afraid of that.”_

But he only says, “I am not afraid of anything.” He turns around to look for an escape, but behind him is the Han River and in front of him is Donghyuck. He isn’t sure which is worse.

Donghyuck comes forwards the last few steps to reach his arms up and intertwine them around Mark’s neck. He whispers, “Don’t be afraid, Mark.” And he turns his face towards Mark’s and Mark can’t help but lean down and close the gap between their lips, Donghyuck’s sweet taste filling his mouth and giving him life.

But it doesn’t make sense, not at all. Because Mark is supposed to be cleansed. He’s supposed to be pure. So why is he still feeling these things? Why does he still have an urge to run his fingers through Donghyuck’s hair and cup his cheeks and press their lips together?

(Maybe this was never a sin to begin with)

They break apart and lean their foreheads together, and Donghyuck gives a little laugh.

“You’re obsessed with being perfect, Mark. You don’t have to be; I will accept you either way. This, between us, is imperfect. It’s as imperfect as it will ever be, but we’ll make it work, yeah?”

 _What people tell him: connect your words into a full circle, check your grammar, your spelling, fix your equation, your process is wrong, you don’t understand. Get your life together.  
_ _What he says: I can’t I can’t I can’t do any of those things_  
 _Why not? You’re not trying hard enough. Try harder._

And Donghyuck begins to sing, sweetly, an old bible hymn. Mark is confused, because Donghyuck is sin, Donghyuck is wrong, but Donghyuck can sing an ode of pureness, of faith. It seems nothing makes sense in this dream because in this dream, the tainted is able to touch the holy...unless this Donghyuck is not tainted, or the bible is not holy.

_Go write those lyrics._   
_What lyrics?_   
_Those lyrics you’re incapable of writing._   
_I’m sorry if this has begun to bore you_   
_All of this endless hurt_

Mark feels his head begin to ache, but Donghyuck does not cease his singing, nor do the thoughts quit their running in his mind.

_There’s a point where the words don’t come out anymore. I know what I want to say but it’s all bottled up somewhere and I need to throw it up it’s stubborn, too stubborn, gets caught in my throat on the way up scrapes the sides of my esophagus raw angry angry angry so I pound my fists against the walls I built and scream so someone will hear me and let me out._   
_No one will let me out_   
_Because I do not want to be let out._

His head begins to spin tighter as Donghyuck starts on a new melody, faintly, in the background.

_I followed you under those flashing strobe lights and allowed you to pass the unidentifiable liquid that ran like water through my lips, rough, regurgitate what we’ve drunk, ruin ourselves. I want to ruin myself, I want to ruin you so completely and wonderfully I will not be able to piece back together the millions and millions of broken shattered pieces I am, you are so pretty to look at and I am so easy to break. Over time, I’ll collect dust and become less valuable -- the worst kind of beauty because it will fade._   
_One day it’ll fade and I’ll become worthless once more._

And suddenly Mark’s eyes fly open and he’s stumbling into the Han River, but it’s not the Han River anymore, it's one of the rivers of hell, icy cold and filled with the souls of the damned. But he hasn’t fallen yet -- no -- Donghyuck’s caught him, warm fingertips grasping Mark’s frigid ones.

But Donghyuck’s eyes are still terrified, and he’s gasping, “Mark, I can’t save you unless you want me to. You have to make the choice.”

_Keep me afloat, because you are my buoy my life preserver all the good things in the world without you there’s so much pressure and I sink with the weight_   
_I breathe you in just so surface the churning waves, just to keep my nose above the water because_   
_I’ll drown without you_

Mark closes his eyes once more and makes up his mind, letting the walls come crashing down. Both hands reaching out to tighten their hold on Donghyuck’s. The last thing Mark sees before he wakes up is the pride and joy on Donghyuck’s face, lighting up his features and turning him radiant, so radiant that Mark cannot bear to look.

The rest of his stay at his parents’ house passes in a blur of repetitive motions; other than that, Mark holes himself in his room and doesn’t come out even as the incessant pounding on his door continues.

His mother cries to him that she’s sorry and his father is stony and silent and Mark does not forgive, because he knows they would do it again.

He doesn’t care anymore, because on the third day, he makes his way out the front door without sparing a single glance backwards, climbing to the van and resting his head against the window. The scenery gradually changes from a suburban setting to an urban one, but Mark doesn’t untense his muscles until he sees 127’s dorm.

He knocks on the door and Taeyong opens it, looking confused at first but then his expression clears up once he recognizes who it is.

“Mark! We were just about to come get you. You know, because today we’re performing at the arena.”

And Mark thinks, _shit, shit, shit,_ because how could he have forgotten? Their schedules are packed like crazy for their Canada tour, so he dashes upstairs and slings his backpack across his floor, grabs his promoting clothes, a couple bottles of water, and his phone, then skids to a stop at the base of the stairs.

“I’m ready,” he pants, and follows the members back into the van. He catches up with Donghyuck, who turns to him hesitantly.

Once they are all seated, he says, “Did it go okay?” and then, “You never called, so…”

And Mark nods because yes, it went okay, it went more than okay. He tells Donghyuck that he never needed to call because nothing happened, it all went well. There’s a feverish glow to his eyes when he says, “Hyuck, wait for me backstage after the show. I need to tell you something.”

And Donghyuck looks at him questionably but nods, turning back around. Mark checks his expression before carefully lacing together their hands, and Donghyuck gives a little jolt in his seat. His reaction isn’t surprising because they’ve been lacking interaction for the longest time in two years, but still, Mark feels a little guilty for all those times he pushed Donghyuck away.

When Donghyuck laces their fingers together tighter and a small smile makes its way across his face, Mark thinks this is it, they can really make it happen.

The show is a hit, as expected. The fan cheers are loud enough to drown out their backing vocals and the stadium is packed, Mark feels more energetic than he has in a long time. Despite the euphoria he experiences while performing, he is anxious and impatient for the concert to end so he and Donghyuck can meet backstage.

After the last song (Touch), the members stand on stage and link arms, bowing in unison with calls of “Thank you!” and then Mark grabs Donghyuck by the wrist and pulls him backstage, excitedly. What he isn’t expecting, though, is his mother and father standing backstage as well, and an unreadable expression crosses both of their faces when they see Mark and Donghyuck hand in hand.

Mark falters to a stop, hand falling out of Donghyuck’s. Donghyuck looks at him in question, then back at the two people in front of him as well as the sick expression on Mark’s face, and makes the connection.

He turns, angry, and his eyes seem to accuse him _but you said everything was okay_ as he whips around and demands, “Spill.”

So Mark, in a leaden voice, tells him everything. Tells him about how he confessed to his parents, how his parents had put two and two together and found out about Donghyuck. How his father beat him on the ground and how they called Pastor Shin for emergency baptism, nearly drowning Mark in the process. How Mark had endured two more days of torture before he was allowed to come back to the dorms (home).

His parents are silent throughout the whole exchange, and Mark desperately wants to tell Donghyuck about his dream, but if he does, there will be hell to pay. So he tries to communicate with his eyes, but Donghyuck isn’t looking at him, he’s looking at Mark’s parents, and his face is twisted in fury.

He starts towards them, voice low. “What makes you think--” But Mark pulls him back, pulling Donghyuck flush against his chest. He lifts Donghyuck’s chin up and kisses him, hard. Mark uses his tongue to trace the seam of Donghyuck’s lips until Donghyuck stumbles back against the wall, body shuddering and arching up into Mark’s, hands reaching down to grasp his hips.

“Fuck,” he gasps, sinking his hands into Mark’s hair and pulling at it feverishly.

It’s vicious, the way Mark bites down on Donghyuck’s lower lip and sucks it into his mouth, worrying it between his teeth. Donghyuck fumbles with the buttons of Mark’s shirt just as Mark drops his mouth to suck at his collarbones, and Donghyuck throws his head back, hitting the wall behind him. He moans, loud and shameless in front of Mark’s parents and Mark thinks that he would do anything, anything to hear it again.

But.

He thinks he finally realizes with startling clarity the situation before him, he finally gets it. He wonders how it took so long, how it came so far before he could see. With his parents in his life and the world against them, he will never be able to have Donghyuck, will never be able to have this thing between them. Will never be able to again run his fingers through Donghyuck’s soft hair and feel the press of his lips like this, not without risking his everybody else’s happiness and their lives, and what better than to give up his own? He was foolish; he was a fool, to think something could have ever happened between them. That they could have been anything more than just friends. So with two fingers, he pinches out the flame. With his hand, he crushes the flourishing blossom.

_This is the last time. This is the last time he’ll ever touch you, like this._

And Mark cups Donghyuck’s face, slowly, and separates them. Even slower, he brings his hands down, so they rest by his sides, limp. Donghyuck blinks his eyes a couple of times, cheeks flushed and lips swollen, and then, almost as if he understands, he reaches down despairingly to capture their hands together, but Mark’s hangs stiffly in Donghyuck’s. Like a dead thing.

“Mark--?”

“We can’t do this,” he says, voice flat and uninterested. “This is what I wanted to tell you, earlier. We can’t be together. Not like this.”

Donghyuck draws his hands out of Mark’s. “I--I don’t understand. What… what do you mean?”

 _I love you, Donghyuck,_ he thinks. _I love you but we can’t do this, because once you know it’s forbidden, what’s happening between us will only become stronger. And it’ll destroy us in the end, our careers, our lives. The world is against us, Donghyuck, once they find out, we’ll be ruined._ Perhaps the scariest thing is that he doesn’t mind being ruined. He doesn’t mind being ruined but he can’t ruin someone else, so he breaks himself into pieces.

“We can’t be together,” he repeats, voice cold and unflinching. “No more kissing, touching, sleeping together. We’re done.”

And Donghyuck physically shrinks back into himself, looking as if Mark had slapped him. But it’s worse, it’s a million times worse than if Mark had only slapped him. He looks destroyed. Utterly destroyed, and it is Mark’s fault. “What?” His voice is very small.

Mark wants to run to him, to apologize, to kiss him and hold him and say _I’m sorry, that wasn’t what I meant. I’m sorry, it wasn’t what I wanted to say._

Instead, he takes a couple more steps back. “I said, we’re done, Donghyuck.”

Donghyuck reaches out, shaking, face white. “We’ll find a way, Mark, we’ll find a way to make it work--”

Mark whips his hands out of Donghyuck’s grasp. “Give up, already. Why are you always so stubborn? I don’t know what I ever saw in you at the beginning.” Somewhere, inside of him, something dies as he says these words, but he plows on. “You’re too headstrong for this to be able to work. You will not ever in your life be enough for me to accept because there’s nothing in you that could make this worthwhile. You’re a failure, Donghyuck, a failure. It would never work, it wasn’t ever meant to work.” He turns away. “Give up.”

Donghyuck’s eyes widen, and he chances a look at Mark’s parents, who are observing the exchange silently. “Mark,” he begins, the color returning to his face, “Mark, I know you’re lying. You’re saying this because _they’re_ here, Mark, you don’t actually mean it--”

And Mark feels the desperation come back at him in full force because this was not how it was supposed to be, Donghyuck was supposed to believe him--

So he looks at him one last time, and cuts the threads free, breaks the bones, severs the tendons connecting them together. Rips their bond clean in half. “Yes,” he swallows. “I do.”

(This is what you wanted right? (no, it was never what I wanted but it is what I brought upon myself.))

They finish the tour with success and fly back to Korea, and continue to promote Punch. Although it’s exactly what they’ve planned from the beginning, it feels so different to Mark because there is no Donghyuck. Donghyuck avoids Mark like the plague, sticking close to the hyungs and spending more time with the Dreamies. Donghyuck keeps his head down, eyes on the ground, and flinches whenever Mark walks too close. Whenever he looks up and catches Mark’s eye, he sometimes drops his gaze immediately and brushes past without a word. Other times, he’ll stare unseeingly into Mark, eyes hopeful at first but then turning blank and empty once Mark looks away. Eventually, he stops looking hopeful.

So Mark tries not to walk too close even though he is still drawn to Donghyuck like a moth to a flame because he did this to them; he did this to himself. These days, Donghyuck barely talks and won’t look into the camera, his fancams lose views and the comments stream in (Is Haechannie okay? He’s been looking down recently) or (Is Hyuckie sick!?!? Fuck you, SM. Stop overworking him).

Mark tries to reassure himself, isn’t it what he wanted? He wanted to make this easier for Donghyuck, he wanted Donghyuck to hate him. So at least one of them doesn’t have to suffer, even if Mark sludges through each day with more and more difficulty, even as he dies a little bit more inside.

He dreams again, although this time, Donghyuck isn’t there to save him and he falls into the river full of souls in Hell. His nights consist of agitated tossing and turning, then waking up in fits of cold sweat and stumbling to the bathroom where he presses his cheek to the cold glass of the mirror and stares up at the ceiling. Yuta sometimes wakes up too, pounding on the locked door of the bathroom and begging Mark to open it while Mark hangs over the toilet, retching up the contents of his stomach.

“Mark,” he roars, “Open this door right now!” And Mark will stumble blindly to the door, fumbling clumsily with the knob before turning and opening it to face a very angry Yuta. The members will come into their room, awake from the commotion and questioning why Mark is up at three a.m. in the morning, yelling at his hyung who hasn’t done anything at all. But each time, he searches the crowd for somebody in particular, and each time, Donghyuck is never there.

He is always the last one to sleep at night and the first to wake up, dragging his feet downstairs to pour himself a bowl of cereal that he picks and prodds at for the next hour and a half. The makeup noonas chasten him for his dark eye bags and he goes through half a stick of concealer each day trying to cover up the circles.

“Are you getting enough sleep?” They will ask and Mark will reply, truthfully, “I don’t know.”

And they will say, “Try to get enough sleep, please. The budget won’t allow for this.”

He goes to bed first that night but falls asleep last, kept awake by his incessant dreams. In the morning, he trudges past Donghyuck’s door and stops to stare at it, lingering in front until Doyoung comes out.

“You can’t come in here,” he says, clean cut and straight to the point.

Mark understands, heeds Doyoung’s warning spoken to him ages ago. He turns around and walks downstairs, pouring a bowl of cereal and mashing the milk in listlessly (he doesn’t eat pancakes anymore, he hasn’t in two weeks. Has it been two weeks? He wonders. Feels like longer). When Taeyong calls the members in for schedule and practice, he drops his half-full bowl in the sink and pushes his chair back, following Donghyuck out the door.

(Always following Donghyuck, a moth drawn to a flame.)

Practice is grueling, grueling enough that when Mark falls into his bed, he can feel the exhaustion overtake him and settle deep in his bones. He falls asleep quickly that night, and what he sees behind his eyelids is not the hard worn leather cover of the bible. Instead, it’s Donghyuck, illuminated under the yellow and red and black beams of stage lights so that they set the ends of his hair on fire. In such disillusion, Mark thinks it almost looks like he has a halo. Like he’s an angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter makes me realize I seriously need to update the tags


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse any typing errors ^^

They finish Punch promotions with success. The 127 common room is finally quiet again, devoid of noisy members seeking a reprieve and Mark spends most of his time there, staring listlessly out the window. 

(It’s heartbreak, Doyoung whispers to anyone who will listen. Mark is exhibiting symptoms of classic heartbreak and it’s all his fault.)

Doyoung is right, Mark knows. It’s all his fault. His parents had been in the backstage room and Donghyuck had been there, and altogether the pressure was too much for him to handle. He acted rashly on an impulsive decision he’d thought he’d carefully considered, yet here he is -- sitting on the sofa, staring unpurposefully out the window and completely regretting his life choices.

His hyungs come up to him periodically and offer him various snacks (“Come on, Mark, make sure to eat something”). Mark accepts the offered food and waves them off, saying “I’m fine, just thinking.”

He doesn’t eat them, not really. He just opens the packages and prods through them a little bit to look as if he has touched them. So his members don’t worry. Sometimes he’ll take a nibble off the corner of an egg sandwich or peel the bagels into strips that he dunks into yogurt, swirling his makeshift mixers around before leaving the pieces to get soggy and fall apart. 

This kind of routine continues for a week, with Mark sitting on the sofa, head pillowed on arms, playing with various types of snacks while his members whisper and worry in the background. Mark doesn’t expect it to last, of course, but he doesn’t really expect anything to be done about it either.

Finally, Jaehyun slips quietly into the common room and settles silently on the opposite side of the sofa. Mark doesn’t acknowledge his presence but continues to mix the bagel pieces in the yogurt, periodically taking them out of the sludgy mixture to examine what is left with a level of clinical interest. Jaehyun speaks first.

“Mark.”

Mark has half the mind to ignore him, because can’t he see he wants to be left alone right now? He debates for a moment, and eventually he decides to nod his head slightly to show that Jaehyun was heard.

Jaehyun sighs. “I know this is a sensitive subject for you.”

Mark’s hand stills briefly before resuming its stirring. 

“But you’ve gotta talk about it."

Silence.

Jaehyun sighs again. He casts a look up at the ceiling and mutters, “Why did they send me to do this?” before getting up from his side of the sofa and moving to a chair diagonal of Mark. So he’s not in Mark’s direct line of view but Mark still has to look at him out of his periphery.

“Donghyuck misses you,” he says quietly.

At this, Mark lets out a huff of disbelief. Donghyuck doesn’t miss him, Donghyuck hates him, Donghyuck hates the despicable worm of a thing that Mark is. Donghyuck doesn’t ever want to see Mark’s face again.

If he were Donghyuck, he would hate himself too. 

Then he thinks, he doesn’t need to be Donghyuck to hate himself. Between him and Donghyuck, he isn’t sure which one hates him more.

Jaehyun seems to guess what Mark is thinking, and plows on. “Don’t assume, Mark. If you’re assuming that, you don’t really know Donghyuck. Donghyuck isn’t like that, he doesn’t hold on to grudges, especially not for you. He forgives.”

Jaehyun pauses.

“You should, too.”

Mark uncurls his legs from the sofa and gets up. He takes his trash and walks into the kitchen, deliberately taking the longest route possible as he lifts the can of the trash, drops his yogurt and bagel in, washes his hands with soap and water, then trudges back into the common room.

To his immense disappointment, Jaehyun is still there, albeit looking a little less patient than before. When Mark sits back down, he opens his mouth again.

“I’m just here to tell you that whatever you did to hurt him, you need to fix it. Because if you don’t god help me --”

Here, Mark flinches at the word “god.” He can’t help it; it’s like the word “god” is ingrained in his mind. Reminds him of all the things that went wrong. Reminds him of what he could have done better.

Jaehyun notices and stops abruptly, staring at Mark.

“If you don’t god help me --”

Mark recoils again.

Something akin to apprehension makes its way onto his face, and he says, “Oh my god oh my god oh my god.”

Mark glares at him as understanding shadows his eyes and his handsome features fall. “You --”

Mark stands up abruptl and makes to leave the room, but before he can step foot outside the door, Jaehyun catches his wrist. They stay there in that position for what feels like forever before Jaehyun speaks. 

“Mark, I’m sorry,” he says finally. “I didn’t know it was like that.”

Mark wrenches his wrist free and opens his mouth for the first time that day. His voice is raspy with disuse and cracks in the middle of his sentence. “Oh yeah? What else didn’t you know?”

Hurt blooms in Jaehyun’s eyes. “Mark, I’m not trying to judge you --”

“But? But what, hyung?”

Jaehyun looks confused, and Mark forges fiercely ahead.

“But I had a chance with him and completely fucked it over? But I was stupid and don’t deserve him anymore? But you’re not trying to judge but you’ll end up judging anyway?”

Jaehyun just looks angry now. “Mark, that’s not what I meant. I meant that --”

Mark interrupts him again. “Oh no, you just meant that you think it’s wrong too. You think it’s wrong what I feel for him, that I want to --” Mark breaks off and turns his face away.

Jaehyun walks over to the door and shuts it calmly. “If you would let me finish, Mark, I could tell you what I really mean.”

He doesn’t pause before saying, “I mean that I didn’t know the situation like that. You hurt him, Mark, you hurt him bad, and now it’s time for you to fix it. It’s not wrong, it’s not wrong at all what you feel for him but the world is fucked up and the world thinks it’s wrong. I’m just telling you to be careful, Mark. Especially in this industry, where if the wrong word gets out, your career can and will be ruined.”

He turns the doorknob. “I didn’t come here to tell you this, but I’m telling you this now. Be careful, Mark. That’s all I’m saying.” He exits the room without a second thought, leaving Mark alone by the door with the demons in his head. 

He’s lucky, in a way. He gets so much time to think about himself, what he’s doing. After Jaehyun leaves, Mark runs up the stairs to his bedroom. Pushing open the door, he falls onto the mattress and mess of blankets in a sprawled heap, crawling inside the cocoon and pulling the covers over his head.

Somebody clears their throat, and Mark peeks out of his shelter to see Yuta sitting on his side of the room, eyebrows raised.

Mark pulls the covers back over his head as Yuta puts down his cell phone and starts making his way towards Mark.

“Did you eat today?”

Mark debates on whether to lie or not, but Yuta is one of his closest hyungs and deserves to know the truth. Mark sighs, rolling over on his stomach.

“Not yet.” His voice is small.

Yuta narrows his eyes. “Wait here. I’m gonna go get you something.”

Mark raises his head to protest, protest that whatever he gets will just come up in the end anyways, but Yuta is already out the door. He lets his head fall back onto the mattress with a thud, hands flopping out to the sides. 

The room is empty, almost frighteningly so, and in the silence Mark starts thinking. 

He wonders where the root of his problems had come from. He wonders what makes him think something like this isn’t okay; he wonders if it gives him somebody to hate and despise. But why would he need to despise a certain group of people? 

Perhaps it makes him feel better about himself; makes him feel self-righteous. Like he’s doing something good for the society, when in reality, he actually --

No, he’s not strong enough to go in that direction yet. 

He thinks desperately instead that God created people so that a man could love a woman, that biology intended for reproduction to happen between those of opposite sexes, that homosexuality encourages moral decay in the human population, that this was unspeakably reprehensible and utterly _wrong_. Wrong, wrong, wrong, he chants, and it feels like he’s trying to convince himself.

But none of that explains why Donghyuck makes him want to detonate into millions and millions of star fragments, why whenever he sings Mark would let the dulcet notes of his voice smother, choke, drown him, and in Donghyuck’s efflorescence Mark could carve out a piece in him and make a home. It doesn’t explain the rapture he experiences whenever he touches Donghyuck, and in their worst and best moments they inhale each other like they are starving (he doesn’t know about Donghyuck, but Mark is). It doesn’t allow him to understand why when Donghyuck and Mark used to drive out, just the two of them, Mark would feel incomprehensible joy and nostalgia watching the wind sift through his pale cornsilk hair, eyelashes brushing the top of his cheekbones and dusting them with a fine layer of soot.

Most of all, it doesn’t explain why he doesn’t just long for Donghyuck’s body, but for _him_ , Donghyuck himself. He wants Donghyuck the way flowers yearn towards the sun, the way they turn their faces towards light as if they cannot bear to be in the darkness. He wants him wholly, so ineffably, so unconditionally that suddenly, Mark can barely breathe and he scrambles frantically to the edge of his bed to hang his head over and gulp in deep breaths, in through his nose, out through his mouth. 

When his heart rate has settled down and his head has quit its spinning, he lays back on the blankets, not bothering to cover himself. 

Hell is cold, some part of him thinks dismissively.

He stays in that position until he hears a couple of knocks on the door, and then Yuta comes in balancing a tray of instant ramen and corn dogs. Mark eyes the food without interest as Yuta makes his way towards him with the tray.

Yuta sets it down on the table beside the bed. “I got you a cup of ramen and two corn dogs and I expect you to finish all of it,” he says sternly.

Mark almost wants to laugh at the expression on his face but holds it back, instead reaching for the chopsticks and the ramen first. He loops the noodles around the chopsticks before sticking it in his mouth. Chews. Swallows. Loops more noodles around the chopsticks, sticks it in his mouth. Chews, swallows.

Mark can feel the panic rising in the back of his throat, and it’s so familiar it’s almost comforting at this point. He hops off the bed, hands over his mouth, and stumbles blindly into the bathroom, knocking into the door. It bangs against the wall with a loud thud, and Mark can almost see Jungwoo next door perk his ears up at the sound.

He hangs over the toilet, retching up the contents in his stomach. Yuta follows him in, a grim expression on his face. He’s carrying the tray, and with horror Mark realizes what he wants to do.

“Hyung, please don’t,” he begs, but Yuta is merciless and does not listen.

Yuta squats down next to Mark and pries his mouth open, stuffing in what (Mark thinks) has to be half a cup of noodles. He says, “Chew,” and Mark chews with a miserable expression on his face. 

Minutes later, he’s hanging over the toilet again, the noodles all coming back up in a regurgitated mess of gunk. 

Yuta doesn’t give up, though. He squats next to Mark by the toilet and forcibly feeds him the rest of the ramen and the corn dogs only to have it all come up moments later. 

Mark leans back against the tub and pushes his sweaty hair away from his forehead. “I told you it wasn’t going to work,” he says tiredly, and Yuta only frowns at him before handing him a wet towel. Mark gratefully takes it and uses it to clean his face. Yuta hands him a bottle of water and tells him to drink, so Mark gulps down a couple of mouthfuls. It sloshes in his stomach, and suddenly he’s hanging over the toilet again, this time throwing up liquid.

It’s like no matter what it is, it can’t be kept down, and some part of him thinks with a sick kind of humor that God is punishing him. For what, he doesn’t know -- hasn’t he made the right choice?

Thoroughly exhausted, he slumps on the floor and looks up at Yuta. Yuta has an indecipherable look on his face, and he stands up resolutely. Mark feels an impending sense of doom come over him.

“Please, hyung,” he begs again. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t do it.”

Yuta ignores him and stands, taking Mark by the armpits and hauling him up. 

“I’m taking you out,” he announces. At Mark’s confused look, he clarifies, “Because if you’re going to throw up cheap ass food you surely won’t throw up expensive food that hyung paid for.”

Mark groans, and Yuta drags him out of the room.

They take the van to some kimbap and tteokbokki place that Mark is sure he’s heard of before but the name doesn’t sound familiar. The waitress ushers them into a center table, and Yuta leans into her quietly.

“If you don’t mind, we’d like a more private table,” he says.

The waitress blinks a couple of times and then nods, leading them to a more secluded place in the back corner of the restaurant. Mark follows, still pale from his multiple episodes in the bathroom and frankly quite nauseous at the idea of eating again.

The waitress places their menus down on the table. 

“When you’re ready to order, just flag one of us down.” Yuta nods and then she’s gone, leaving just him and Mark at the table.

Yuta scans the menu over once before placing it down neatly in front of him. He settles his gaze on Mark, who had taken the seat opposite.

“How long has this been going on?”

Mark lets his eyes drift down to his menu. He doesn’t really look at it, picking at the edge of the laminated paper with his fingernail.

“What?” He’s stalling.

Yuta’s face looks slightly less resigned. “This” he gestures “Eat food, throw it up cycle. How long have you not been able to keep things down? You’re going to become sick at this rate.” 

Mark lets his head rest on his forearms. “I don’t know,” he lies. “Sometimes I can keep things down, but like it only happens when my body feels like keeping something down. Other times, it just comes back up, I guess.” 

Yuta furrows his eyebrows. “So in the end are you able to eat things and keep it down? What have you eaten in the past week?”

Mark doesn’t tell him about the yogurt and bagels sitting in the trash can, the corners nibbled off the egg sandwiches. Instead, he says, “I eat the food Doyoung brings me. Sometimes I can keep it down, sometimes I can’t.”

Yuta snorts. “Liar. Doyoung takes out the trash and he’s told us about all the random food scraps that make their way into there. Seriously, Mark. We’re not stupid. Has this been going on since Donghyuck?”

At this, Mark jerks a little in his seat. He lifts his head to glare at Yuta, then impulsively flags a waitress down despite not knowing what yet to order. He doesn’t want to talk about Donghyuck; the last thing he wants to talk about is Donghyuck.

The waitress makes her way over to their table with an amiable smile and asks them what they would like.

Yuta smiles back at her. “I’d like a tuna kimbap and cider please.” Mark opens his mouth to tell her that a water would be just fine for him, but then Yuta smoothly interjects.

“And he’ll take a chungmu kimbap and cider as well, please.” The waitress looks slightly startled but writes down their orders nevertheless and collects their menus.

“Your orders will be out with you shortly,” she says, and then returns in the direction she came from. Once she’s gone, Yuta focuses his attention back on Mark.

“So this is because of Donghyuck.”

Mark closes his eyes as little pinpricks of pain stab him from the inside at the mention of Donghyuck’s name. He keeps silent, not wanting to confirm or deny anything. Yuta takes his silence as affirmation, and sighs.

“You pushed him away, didn’t you?”

Mark raises his head. “How did you know?”

Yuta shrugs. “You have an air of being guilty around you, and you’ve avoided each other like the plague for the last couple of weeks or so. You’re sad, Donghyuck’s sad, you don’t eat, Donghyuck doesn’t sleep --”

Mark sits up, previous inattention forgotten. “Donghyuck doesn’t sleep?”

Yuta looks startled. “You didn’t know?” He says. “Donghyuck sleeps maybe two hours out of the twenty four in a day and has dreams that keep him up during that time. He spends the rest of his day staring out the window.” He pauses and thinks for a moment. “Doyoung says it’s heartache, and I’m beginning to think he’s right. Actually, it’s not unlike what you do. The staring out the window part.” 

Mark feels the guilt well up in him, heavy and rolling. It’s all his fault. It’s okay if he isn’t eating, of course, but if Donghyuck’s not sleeping…

“Can’t you help him?” He demands.

At this, Yuta looks angry. “You’re the one that fucked him up, Mark. You need to be the one to fix this. Just because you’re angry and you hate yourself for what you did doesn’t mean that you don’t still hold Donghyuck to a certain level of responsibility. He did nothing wrong, Mark. His only crime was loving --”

Mark presses his hands over his ears, voice rising. “Stop! Stop!” He shrieks. “Don’t say that, don’t say he loves me --”

Somebody clears their throat behind him, and Mark and Yuta turn around simultaneously to see the waitress standing there awkwardly with two plates of food balanced at her hips. She coughs, and looks embarrassed.

“I have a tuna kimbap, a chungmu kimbap, and two ciders for table thirty-three,” she says.

Yuta smiles forcibly and takes the plates from her. “Thank you,” he says, and the aura about him clearly asks her to leave.

She bows and turns around, casting a curious glance back at them.

Mark ignores her, instead focusing on the kimbap roll in front of him. He stares at it for a couple of seconds, then pushes it away.

“I don’t want it,” he says resolutely.

Yuta’s eyes darken. “Yes, you do.” He pushes the plate back in front of Mark and Mark shoves it away again. His stomach is roiling, flipping in and out on itself and it feels like his acids are sloshing out of his pores. 

“ _I don’t want it,_ ” he insists.

Yuta’s demeanor takes on one of thunderclouds right before the storm hits. “Don’t make me force it down you, Mark, I’d hate to do that…”

Mark pushes up from the table. Grabbing his phone, he walks calmly to the exit, not minding the stares he receives and the forgotten food on the table. He shoves the doors open with unnecessary force and hops into the van. Yuta doesn’t understand, he thinks. It won’t stay down. There’s no use in wasting perfectly good food like that, on someone who isn’t going to use it. On someone like Mark.

Minutes later, Yuta walks out of the restaurant with two take out containers in his hands. He gets into the car, hands Mark one of the take out containers. 

“Hold it.”

Mark can feel the guilt rising in part of him again for the commotion he had caused, so he holds the box without complaint. The ride back is silent, and when Yuta gets out of the van, he looks Mark straight in the eye.

“Talk to him, Mark,” he says quietly. “Talk to Donghyuck.”

It’s the last thing Mark wants to do. But some part of him knows that unless he does, Donghyuck may destroy his health and his career would thus fall apart. Mark thinks that he can destroy himself, but he must save Donghyuck.

Like Yuta said, Donghyuck hasn’t done anything wrong.

Luckily (or unluckily, depending on whos side one is looking at), the opportunity presents itself in the form of Johnny who walks in on Mark later that day laying on the ground of the common room, hands shadowed over his face. Johnny drops to his knees at ground level and taps Mark’s shoulder as if he’s a wild animal that hasn’t yet been domesticated.

“Mark...I know you might not feel like it right now...but manager-nim wants to see you.”

When Johnny gets no response, he switches to English.

“C’mon Mark Lee, bro. For real.” He shakes Mark harder. “Get up.”

Mark cracks an eye open and makes a disgruntled face, arms coming up weakly to wave Johnny away. Johnny is undeterred and continues to shake Mark until Mark sits straight up, head almost knocking into Johnny’s.

“Alright, alright, I’m getting up,” he mutters, glaring. When he sits up, his head spins. Mark attributes that to the fact that he had quickly gotten up after laying on the ground for three hours, yet as he walks to the door and pauses with a hand on the handle, the dizziness doesn’t recede. He thinks, I’m okay, I’m okay. He breathes in deeply through his nose, out through his mouth. Just like Donghyuck --

“What are they asking me for?”

At this, Johnny averts his eyes, scratching the back of his head and looking anywhere but at Mark. 

Mark’s face falls and his hand slips off the handle. They had to be calling him in for something related to Donghyuck. He tries to calm the panic in him as he pulls open the door without casting another glance back inside.

Mark walks down the hallways and turns, left, left, right, left, down the many flights of stairs, right, right, left before coming to a halting stop in front of Lee Sooman’s door. He hesitates, unsure of whether to just go in or knock before raising his fist and tentatively tapping it against the polished wood three times. 

Lee Sooman calls, “Come in” and Mark cracks open the door as his stomach plummets down, down, down. 

Donghyuck turns around stiffly in his chair in front of Sooman and he must have been expecting Mark because there is no flash of recognition in his eyes. He looks dead, dark circles present as if somebody had swiped makeup shadow all over the undersides of his eyes, golden skin sallow and hands curled into his lap, fingertips pale.

Yet, Mark hasn’t seen Donghyuck in weeks, _really_ seen him. He hasn’t seen Donghyuck in weeks and it’s almost like his body is starved for the sight of Donghyuck, because his eyes drink in the slight figure without abandon; greedily. They trace over his soft hair, the shape of his nose, his jawline, the shoulders, the legs. Mark’s hands itch to touch but he doesn’t. He wants to hold him tightly and tell him, _I’m so sorry, Hyuckie, so, so sorry. This wasn’t ever meant to happen, it wasn’t ever meant to be like this._

_I didn’t mean it._

(He wonders how many times he can say the word “sorry” before it loses its meaning.)

But Mark’s made a choice, so he bites brutally on his tongue and makes his way over to the other chair in front of Sooman. 

Once he’s seated, Sooman folds his hands beneath his chin, looks at the two of them directly, and cuts straight to the point.

“We’ve had a lot of recent fan comments that they would like to see a Mark and Haechan collaboration within an NCT subunit. This could be attributed to your fanbase work during interviews, especially the Inkigayo interview where the hostess initiated a pepero game. I received feedback that you two handled it very well, and ever since the incident, there’s been an almost alarmingly large spike in NCT 127’s following. The conclusion is that it is attributed to your special relationship and chemistry” 

He pauses, and Mark can feel himself shrinking into his body. He chances a look at Donghyuck, who is statue still and white knuckled. He stares straight ahead and refuses to look Mark’s way, and Mark turns his head back forwards with a sinking feeling in his gut. Donghyuck must already know whatever Sooman is about to tell him, and whatever it is, Donghyuck clearly isn’t happy about it. 

Lee Sooman rearranges a couple stacks of paper on his desk before continuing, “NCT U has not had a comeback since December of 2019. The last NCT U duo I believe was performed by Taeyong and Ten, Baby Don’t Stop. It has, since then, garnered a total of sixty-eight million views on the youtube streaming platform and resulted in the popularity of all NCT subunits, and interestingly, WayV reaching skyrocket highs.”

He pauses again, and Mark almost wants to press his hands over his ears. He knows what’s coming, can feel it. The anxiety makes its presence known, and his left foot begins to insistently tap against the hardwood floor.

Lee Sooman peers down at Mark’s foot, and Mark stills his legs, face flushing.

“I want you --” Here he looks at Mark, “And you --” Looks at Donghyuck “To be the next project duo for NCT U’s comeback.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags will be updated as the story progresses :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally did not plan to change the rating of this fic, but it made more sense in order to develop mh's relationship. This chapter is rated, and if anyone feels uncomfortable with it, please do not hesitate to skip over those parts!!
> 
> ILY all

It’s funny how one can preserve things in ice, preserve things so perfectly and wholly that once the outer shell of glass is sloughed away, the object in question is completely unharmed. Protected. 

Sterile.

That’s what Mark thinks his expression must look like, a frozen smile encased by the frosty skin of his face, protected from the outside elements. Nothing quite penetrates through the thick wall, and he can only hear Lee Sooman still talking about the plans for NCT U’s comeback. His and Donghyuck’s comeback.

Donghyuck won’t look at him, he trains his gaze firmly forwards and bites his lips so hard they turn white and the skin stretches thin to the point of breaking. But it doesn’t break, because Donghyuck is controlled -- a master in his own craft. Mark is suddenly conscious of his own bitten and chapped lips, evidence of his amateurity and inability to remain in authority of his own body, his own will. 

“ -- head down to the practice rooms after dinner to take a look at the choreography video and begin practicing. You have three weeks to perfect this.” Mark tunes back into the last part of the conversation, and he knows what Lee Sooman really means, what he hears is  _ don’t screw this up. _ It’s evident Donghyuck takes it the same way, because his eyes glitter and his mouth is hard. 

He doesn’t even know what the title song is called before he’s excused, and Donghyuck turns on his heel resolutely, away from Mark. Mark wants to reach his hands out to do  _ something _ , maybe to grab onto him, but Donghyuck slips out of his grasp (he always does) and down the hallway in the opposite direction. Mark twists his fingers into the material of his shirt and opens his mouth then closes it, only watches the retreating figure and wishes. 

_ Donghyuck, where are you now?  _ It’s obvious that Mark doesn’t know, but he wonders if Donghyuck himself is clear either.

Dinner is a nearly silent affair, and word must have spread around at NCT U’s comeback. Ten twirls his chopsticks in the air and says nothing, Taeyong purses his lips and looks the other way. Mark can almost understand why they behave like this, because in an industry as competitive as this one, you take any opportunity you can get, you fight tooth and nail and claw for a chance to become something more because it’s basic survival in this world. Then you get the opportunity and you can either catapult yourself to fame or make an unsatisfactory label, and your actions reflect back onto the world. When you’ve been squeezed and strained and emptied of your use, you’re thrown away without a second thought and someone new and better takes your place. 

After Baby Don’t Stop’s success, it’s no wonder they feel sour that two new things are taking their places, stealing their limelights. Mark wants to tell them that they are a million times of what he and Donghyuck could ever be, wants to tell them that they will never lose their use in this world, not in this industry, not ever.

But then he thinks of Donghyuck, fiery Donghyuck and the way he can annihilate the stage with his eyes and his voice and his body, and thinks that it’s possible one day that something as young and pretty as Donghyuck will take their places and they’ll lose their use. So Mark shuts his mouth and spoons more fried rice, enough so that he chokes on the small beads of starch and Johnny has to lean over to thump his back. Enough so that when it all goes down the toilet later, it’ll burn on the way up.

After dinner, Mark heads down to the practice rooms with iron lead coursing through his veins, feeling lightheaded and stumbling over his steps, throat raw and aching. Donghyuck is already there and when he turns around, Mark has half the mind to head back up the stairs because what was he thinking? He can’t do this, he’s not strong enough.

But Donghyuck’s already handing him the practice tablet as he heads to the back of the TV, silently plugging in the cable so that the tablet’s contents are projected onto the display on the monitor. He clicks on the choreography video and when it finally loads onto the screen, Mark feels his mouth go dry.

It’s not a dirty beat, there’s no bass to grind low to, no opportunity for scintillating flashes of the stomach and reasons to censor out curse words. It doesn’t give Mark any reason to flush from the neck to the tips of his ears, yet he does.

It’s much worse.

It’s strangely intimate, a crooning, haunting melody that echoes in his ears long after it’s faded away. It’s a minor key and ends on a major note, and something somewhere in Mark wonders if people will forget that. If people will forget that it was ever a minor key at all because it ended on a major note. He dazedly chances a glance at the corner of the screen, where he sees the title and sucks in a breath. 

He must have sinned to a ridiculous degree in his past life, because hell is out to get him.

_ Hiraeth,  _ it’s called. Homesickness, he thinks, and he feels like laughing because it’s so ironic, so cruel, and how could they have known? Mark longs for something more, always something more, always taking taking taking and Donghyuck is the one thing he cannot take, cannot ever, ever take. Donghyuck is his home, he rests in the hollows of Mark’s body and the lining of his soul and he  _ wants _ .

Nostalgia, yearning, longing, desire, regret, he thinks, they all tie together as common themes in this piece. Mark stumbles back against the wall and covers his mouth with his hands, closing his eyes, and sinks down to the floor. Donghyuck doesn’t see him, and Mark thinks it’s all the better, that Donghyuck doesn’t see Mark pathetically weak like this and he almost thinks that Donghyuck isn’t affected at all by the still way he stares at the screen. But when he turns back around after watching the video, his face is stony and his hands are clenched into fists at his sides.

The worst part is that it makes sense that they’d be the ones to perform it, and inside Mark curses Lee Sooman’s adeptness at being able to pair people so well to maximize profit for his company. He reaches over to click the replay button on the tablet (it’s a good reminder; it hurts and it’s  _ good _ ) and watches through the gaps in his fingers how two dancers on the screen weave through each other’s spaces and tilt their heads together, a lover’s embrace. He’s despairing at this point, because how can he muster up the courage to perform something like this; something so raw to him? He turns to the tablet but Donghyuck’s already there, pressing the pause button with his delicate fingers and swiping away the video so that the TV screen turns to black nothingness again.

_ No more. _

Mark feels the hysteria bubble back up in him because they can’t even bear to listen to the song, can’t muster up enough courage to face it, never mind the disparity for the performance. In the silence of the studio, Mark lets the coolness of his hands melt away the flush of his cheeks, and Donghyuck gives him space.

Despite all they’ve been through, Mark thinks, only Donghyuck knows him best. Only Donghyuck knows him like the back of his hand, able to trace the blue-green veins in his sleep and sees the maps of his lead filled arteries in his dreams.

Eventually, Donghyuck breaks the silence, but his back stays turned against Mark. “We need to start practicing.” A loaded pause, heavy and rolling as the weight of a freight train. “We only have three weeks.”

Mark smothers down the giggles rising in his chest again and brings himself to his feet, finding his balance as his head spins dizzily. He runs his fingers through his hair. “The best way to do this would be to learn our parts separately and then put them back together. Let’s give today and tomorrow to learn the parts of the next two days to put them together. The rest of the days we can spend honing what we’ve learned.”

Donghyuck only narrows his eyes at Mark’s suggestion, then shrugs and nods. He brings a practice tablet to the other side of the room and begins to follow the movements of the screen, limbs testing out the new choreography with patience and curiosity. Mark watches him for a moment, the long and graceful line of his body, before he picks up his own tablet and squints at the screen, trying to pick out Donghyuck’s dancer from his own.

The further he goes in the song, the more the horror and dread fills him. The two dancers are so intertwined at times it’s difficult to pick out whose limbs are whose, and there are caresses throughout the choreography that speak of connection, of unity. By the end of the video, Mark’s cheeks are burning again and he knows that during the performance, he’s going to have to touch Donghyuck like that. To touch him gently and heartbreakingly, soft. 

He sets the tablet down and crosses the room to where the water is, picking up the bottle and taking long gulps from the opening. When he rescrews the cap back on, Donghyuck’s tablet utters its final ending note and Donghyuck ends the choreography, panting hard and lines of sweat trickling down the column of his throat and into his shirt.. Mark finds himself arrested in midmotion, watching the flutter of his lashes and the sharp angle of his cheekbones --

_ You don’t have the right anymore. _

Donghyuck lowers his head and blinks the sweat from his eyes, catching Mark’s gaze. And there’s something that passes between them, something that slinks from the burnished gold of Donghyuck’s skin and makes itself a hearth inside the spaces between Mark’s ribs, pressing high into the roof of his stomach.

_ It’s you, it’s always been you _ , Mark tries to say but nothing comes out of his mouth. The hinges of his jaw are glued shut, and Mark thinks with some kind of sickness in his lungs that God has forced his lips closed so that the poison can’t find it’s way past his teeth. Donghyuck holds his gaze for a moment longer then breaks it, turning away with his head lowered and something shadowed in his eyes. 

_ Don’t go. You always leave. _

But Donghyuck leaves, he always does, and Mark is left standing by the side of the mirror with empty water bottle in hand, Donghyuck’s tablet still playing their song on repeat. It echoes hauntingly across the room and bounces back from the walls, ringing in the hollows of his ears.

The first couple of practices pass like that, with Donghyuck ignoring Mark and Mark trying furtively not to stare. He can’t help it despite all of his reservations, all of his rules; Donghyuck moves like nothing he’s seen before. He fits the very image the industry wants to project outwards, and although Mark has been the one from the start with the golden boy privileges, he somehow feels wane and small next to the flame that Donghyuck is. If Donghyuck had any mind in him to topple the pedestal that Mark sits on, Mark has no doubt that it would be easy as pinching out the spark on a match. Extinguishing his breath of life.

Mark is a curious child who knows that the fire will burn, yet still yearns to touch.

By the fifth practice, they’re still not touching each other. They’re skirting over the parts of the choreography that require physical interaction, skidding away from what they should be doing.

By the fifth practice, the members of NCT 127 and Ten file in silently into the practice room and spectate both of them, eyes dark and probing. Mark feels like a failure, reaching out to touch Donghyuck’s shoulder and then jerking his hands back when Donghyuck extends both his arms towards him. Donghyuck’s face gives nothing away every time Mark does this, but his movements become stiffer and he hits the ground with more pace.

They dance around each other, Mark being unable to touch Donghyuck and Donghyuck refusing to touch Mark -- the air in the practice room seems almost suffocating with so many people -- and Mark can barely breathe. By the end of their run, Donghyuck is panting hard and the sweat shines at his temples, turning the roots of his hair to a dark purple and Mark looks away because it’s a sight he has no right to see, not anymore.

Their ending pose is supposed to be one where both of their hands are on the other’s cheeks and their heads are touching in an embrace, but they stand stiffly with their arms studiously by their sides and avoid eye contact.

There’s silence at the end of their performance, the kind of silence before a storm brews and thunder booms and lightning strikes. Then Taeyong shakes his head and stands up.

“Six days. This is all you could get done in six days?”

Mark sucks in his breath and holds it, he doesn’t dare to glance up at Taeyong’s expression. Donghyuck’s face is furious, closed off, and his hands are clenched into fists at his sides.

Taeyong shakes his head incredulously again, making his way towards them. “This is not how it’s supposed to be! You are completely disengaged with each other. I don’t know what feud you two are fighting out at the moment, but this is business. It has nothing to do with personal relations or anything else that might be going on at the moment.” Donghyuck’s hands are still clenched into fists by his sides, expression shadowed, and Mark can feel the waves of anger and resentment ride over him, slow and heavy and rolling. 

“This is not a time to be selfish. The success of the group rides on your shoulders. I thought that you two have been in this industry long enough to know the consequences of not giving full effort or showcasing one hundred percent of your potential, but clearly you haven’t been in this industry long enough yet. Get yourselves together. Take this seriously. Am I making myself clear?”

Donghyuck raises his head, and there is no trace of emotion on his face. “Yes.” His hair flops over his eyes, obscuring them, and he hides his fists behind his back where only Mark can see them. Mark opens his mouth to agree but the words won’t come out, and he thinks with a desperate hilarity that God has once again glued his jaw shut, but for what reason this time he doesn’t understand as his knees wobble and head spins and he has half the mind to sit down. Taeyong takes one look at his condition and softens his voice.

“It’s harsh, I know. But it’s also reality, and we need to start facing it. Please.” His voice lowers even more. “Please, try.”

And Mark can only nod, nod that yes, yes he will try to touch Donghyuck and hold him and dance with him like nothing’s changed when really, everything in the world has changed. Taeyong exhales and motions for the rest of the members to file out the door behind him, the doors opening and closing.

Ten stays behind.

Donghyuck doesn’t turn around, just strides back to the tablet and picks it up, connecting the cords back into the speakers so that their song will play out, loud and strong. Ten strides forwards and takes the tablet out of Donghyuck’s hands. Donghyuck looks furious and he opens his mouth, maybe to curse at him --

“Dance with me,” he says. Mark blinks in surprise. Donghyuck, if possible, looks even more surprised, mouth parting slightly, lower lip full.

“You want me to do it with you?” Donghyuck flutters his hands around his face, the movements casting shadows on the walls in the dim light of the studio. “But you don’t even know it yet.”

Ten waves dismissively. “I can pick it up easily,” and pick it up easily he does once he watches the choreography. Although the choreography is difficult and requires many precise, coordinated movements, Ten is an experienced dancer and is able to pick up the main points within thirty minutes.

Mark watches as Ten presses the play button on the tablet and the music starts in the speakers again, and Ten and Donghyuck move together in a way that should be Donghyuck and Mark, fluid, seamless. Ten is a good dancer, Mark will acknowledge -- but he only has eyes for Donghyuck, Donghyuck with his hands curling lightly around Ten’s torso and pulling in Ten to share the same breath, Donghyuck running his hands through Ten’s hair and throwing his head back so that the lines of his lashes brush the tops of his cheekbones.

Mark watches this, and something uncomfortable stirrs in his stomach. He tells himself it was the way the food came up that morning, scraping the sides of his esophagus raw and jumbling the acids in his stomach up so that they slosh against the walls of his insides, he tells himself it’s the heat of the room and the dizziness inside his head. He tells himself all these things, and in the end, none of them feel right.

When Ten leans his head against Donghyuck’s and cups the roundness of his cheeks in his hands, Mark strides forwards and takes hold of his wrists, wrenching them off Donghyuck’s face. The force of his grasp sends Donghyuck falling backwards and he braces himself with his hands against the hard floor, eyes wide and shocked. 

Mark stumbles back, only then realizing what he’s done and raises his head to look at Ten, who stares back at him triumphantly. Donghyuck’s cheeks begin to flush and he picks himself off the floor, dusting his hands off on his pants.

“Fuck you, Mark Lee,” he spits. “Really.” And when he turns on his heel and storms out of the practice room, Ten calmly unscrews the cap from Donghyuck’s water bottle and waterfalls it into his mouth. Mark crouches on the floor and drops his head into his hands. 

Ten bends down to hand Mark his own water bottle. “Follow him,” he says. “Go after him. Don’t let him get away.” Mark shakes his head and mumbles something along the lines of  _ I can’t I can’t he doesn’t want me. I made him not want me and now he doesn’t want me. _

Ten lets his fingers run over the nape of Mark’s neck, cool and soothing. “You want him, right?” When Mark doesn’t respond, Ten takes this as an affirmation. “Then go after him before you lose your chance.”

Hope sparks dully in him and he pushes himself off the floor slowly, steadying himself on Ten’s arm when his head spins. After his dizzying spell recedes, he walks slowly to the door and grabs the handle. He turns back, and Ten is staring at him.

“Go faster, Mark.” And Mark can’t move because he’s stuck there, catching Ten’s gaze with his eyes and pounding on the insides of his soul. He bites at the paper thin skin of his lips and it splits open, spilling warm metallic blood into his mouth. “Thank you, hyung,” he rasps, and then he turns around without waiting for Ten’s response and flies down the hallway. He turns the corner and makes his way up the flights of stairs before he sees Donghyuck, leaning against the door of his dorm room, hand shadowed over his face. Mark slows down and approaches him the way one would approach a starving lion cub. 

Donghyuck doesn’t look up as Mark nears, doesn’t give any indication that he’s aware of Mark’s presence (but he must be because he and Donghyuck are connected in ways that only higher beings understand; they’re strung together by fate), only saying  _ what do you want Mark _ and he sounds so, so tired. 

What Mark wants to say is  _ I’m sorry I’m sorry all of this happened and it had to happen to you. I’m sorry you were there at the wrong place in the wrong time and I’m sorry that I’m thick headed and stupid and left you when you needed me most. I’m sorry that I’m not sorry that we are what we are.  _

Instead, what comes out is “Are you heading to your room for the night?”

Donghyuck’s expression shutters closed and he gives a small laugh, contemptuous and scornful and dripping poison from the syllables. “What else would I be doing here?” 

And Mark realizes it’s a stupid question, but he can never find it inside himself to say the things he wants to say; the things he needs to say. So he covers up his awkwardness with unnecessary questions and hopes it masks the failure that he is.

Donghyuck pushes off the side of the door, wincing, hand on hip. Mark starts forwards, concern spreading hot like molten lava through his body, and he reaches out to touch -- hold -- but Donghyuck raises his hands and slaps Mark’s away.

“You do realize that when you so kindly threw me down on the floor just now, it left a bruise,” he says, and he sounds so petulant and childish and accusing that Mark almost wants to laugh. He almost wants to laugh, but he doesn’t because he knows Donghyuck, and Donghyuck doesn’t take ridicule lightly, not when he’s like this.

_ I’m sorry,  _ he says, and Donghyuck scoffs. “That’s all you have to say? I’m beginning to think those are the only two words left in your dictionary. Leave me alone, Mark, I don’t want to talk to you today.” The unspoken  _ or ever  _ lingers behind both of them, unsaid, and it caresses the air in the hallway sour. Donghyuck jiggles the knob of the door viciously and it swings open, cool air rushing into the hallway and brushing Mark’s face with silver lining.

Without thinking, he strides forwards and grabs Donghyuck by the collar, pulling him towards himself and swinging him around so that his back hits the wall. His hands find their way to Donghyuck’s hip, and his sharp inhale tells Mark that he’s discovered the bruise. His fingers rub light circles into the spot, and Donghyuck tenses with a faint sound making its way past his lips.

“It hurts me,” Mark whispers, and he feels tight, strung like the strings of a cello, quivering with vibrations in the air -- perhaps in anticipation of the first note. “It hurts me when you hurt.”

Donghyuck’s eyes flash, and he tilts his chin up, defiantly, proudly. His hands find their way to grip Mark’s wrists and his hold is tight, so tight Mark is sure it’ll leave bruises in the morning. He finds that he welcomes it, relishes the mark and deserves the pain. Craves it, even. 

“Then stop  _ hurting me _ ,” Donghyuck hisses, and venom seeps from his very pores and Mark absorbs it, beckons it into his veins and begs for himself to be tainted; tarnished. Donghyuck’s fingers splay over the skin of Mark’s wrists, blood pressed flush and bone rubbing against bone.

“Tell me how,” Mark says, and it’s not a command. It’s a plea, a prayer, and this time Mark is not paying his respects to God (at some point, he thinks, he’s stopped doing that). “How to make it stop.”

Donghyuck’s eyes flash with frustration and his grip becomes so tight it starts to cut off the circulation in Mark’s wrists. “You stupid, stupid boy,” he says, voice shaking with fury and he loosens his hands and sinks his fingers deep into Mark’s hair, pulling hard. “ _ This, _ ” he says, and suddenly they’re crashing together, all lips and teeth and fumbling hands. Mark feels the pulse points travel out from their spots of connection, electricity thrumming through his veins and Donghyuck licks into Mark’s mouth with a savageness that leaves him reeling back, gasping for air and pulling him closer with desperate clutching fingers. Donghyuck’s hands steal under the hem of Mark’s shirt and he inhales sharply when he feels the coolness of his fingers pressed up against the hot flush of his skin.

When he moves to nip at the corner of Mark’s lower lip, it’s a mistake on his part.

It’s a mistake because Mark seizes the opportunity to press his body against Donghyuck’s and roll his hips down, hard, and Donghyuck lets out a moan -- so loud and obscene that Mark is sure the people on the tenth floor are able to hear it. He doesn’t care, if anything, wants to hear it again -- louder, wants people to know what he’s doing to Donghyuck -- so he sucks his way down the long column of his neck and Donghyuck whimpers, pretty and drawn out and broken.

“Tell me what you want,” Mark gasps, hips stuttering against Donghyuck’s and fingers pressing into the spaces between his collarbones. Donghyuck flings his head back, sweat gleaming on his neck and Mark leans forwards and licks a line of it off of his skin and Donghyuck shudders, raking his fingernails down Mark’s back. Desire coils hot and low in the pit of his stomach, and suddenly Mark’s pushing the door open to Donghyuck’s dorm room and they’re stumbling together along the walls, pressing each other up against the hard plasterboard, heads thumping back into the partitioning.

“You.” Donghyuck’s eyes are fierce and his cheeks are flushed as he pushes Mark back into the bed and clambers onto his lap, undoing the zipper to his pants. His lashes brush fine lines of coal onto the edges of his face, and his lips are parted slightly. “You. This.” Mark feels a hot flush travel up his chest that spills onto the paleness of his skin, and he rolls his hips upwards, seeking friction. Donghyuck moans, desperate and wanting and suddenly Donghyuck’s shorts are gone and Mark’s hands are pressed flush against the bareness of Donghyuck’s honey thighs.

“Is this okay?” Mark whispers, trepidation hanging over him like a stormcloud, fear coursing through him that he’s not good enough at this and Donghyuck deserves more and Mark’s not worth it. Donghyuck lets his eyelids slip shut and says  _ yes yes keep going don’t stop, _ so Mark presses openmouthed kisses to the insides of Donghyuck’s legs and Donghyuck shakes, falling apart under Mark’s hands.

“Fuck,” he gasps, arching his back up into Mark and clutching at Mark’s shoulders, fingernails digging harshly into the skin. “Fuck, Mark, I --”

Mark peels off the last of Donghyuck’s clothes and finally touches him, hands skidding over his length and Donghyuck throws his head back hard enough so that for a moment, the sharpness of his collarbones protrude out of his skin like mountain peaks, hard and shadowed. 

“So pretty,” Mark whispers, stroking him over from base to tip. “You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about doing this.” Donghyuck’s entire body trembles and the flush on his cheeks become more prominent, ruby ink spilling over his honeysuckle skin.

“You’ve -- you’ve thought about doing this to me?” He manages to get out, and his voice is breathy and faint. Mark tightens his grip and a broken moan stutters past Donghyuck’s lips, and Mark catches it while they press together, hot and heavy and so dirty.

“Yes.” Mark closes his eyes and thumbs at the slit, the image of Donghyuck burned into the back of his eyelids and glowing. “So many times. Hyuck, baby --”

Donghyuck whimpers, high in his throat and says, “Fuck, Mark. Say that again,” so Mark whispers  _ Baby, beautiful, mine  _ into the veins that trace through Donghyuck’s neck and bites at the tendons that jut out, all the while stroking him faster.

Mark presses Donghyuck back into the sheets and drops to his knees. He looks at Donghyuck from under his lashes and says, “I want to feel you.” Donghyuck’s thighs tremble and his fingers find their way back into Mark’s hair, tugging so hard at the roots Mark thinks he sees stars.

“Yes,” he gasps, pulling. “I’m yours, Mark,” and Mark takes Donghyuck as far as he can in his mouth, thick saliva coating his length and leasing the friction. Mark lets his teeth scrape against the bottom of Donghyuck and Donghyuck cries out, bucking up into Mark’s mouth.

“So, so, pretty,” Mark says, pearly tears gathering in his eyes as he feels Donghyuck hit the back of his throat. “So pretty for me”

Donghyuck’s hips thrust upwards, desperately seeking release and from there it’s only a matter of seconds, broken litanies and moans spilling from his swollen lips as he rocks back against Mark’s hand. Mark gathers the wriggling mess into his hands and presses a kiss to the juncture between his jaw and ear, mouthing at the lobe and pulling at it between his teeth and Donghyuck dissolves and his voice rises as he begs and pleads for more, eyes fluttering shut.

_ This is the way it was meant to be, _ Mark thinks as Donghyuck comes in his mouth, his sobs echoing off the stucco of the walls as he clutches to Mark like a lifeline.  _ It was always meant to be this way. _

_ Hiraeth _ garners a total of fifteen million views on the first day and when he and Donghyuck stand on the stage and perform, the crowd goes wild. It’s painfully intimate, the choreography, gazes smouldering and caresses that leave Mark shaking to the core. The stage lights are bright, bright enough so that Mark can’t see the audience’s expressions but not so bright that they drown out Donghyuck.

They did Donghyuck softly this time, golden bronzer and neat liner and carnation-pink lips and the whole ensemble screams of bittersweet, of homesickness. He twists and turns around Mark, touches are light and fleeting, and after their night Mark finds himself always craving for something more. He holds himself back, though, bites his lips until they bleed and color his lips with streams of red, restrains his hands and limits his touch.

By the time the song ends, both of them are panting and a high flush sits on Donghyuck’s cheekbones. They hold each other’s gazes through the raucous screaming of the crowd and when they’re ushered backstage, something unspoken lingers between them and it tingles throughout Mark’s body. They don’t mention it, don’t have a chance even to talk about it because they’re whisked away in three vans, holding the entirety of NCT with the intention to get as hammered as possible at the club in celebration of Mark and Donghyuck’s song. 

_ Their  _ song.

The club is high class, hidden behind corporate buildings and unknown to the general public. Mark pushes his way through the crowds of people, refusing the drinks that are offered and scanning the area for Donghyuck. He doesn’t find him, of course, because when Donghyuck doesn’t want to be found, no one can find him.

Mark resigns himself to sitting on a stool with his head cupped in his palms, watching the dancers grind to the low bass beat and rolling around pretzels in his fingers. Jaehyun had passed him a small glass bowl filled with them earlier with a low command of “By the time we’re finished here, that bowl should be empty” and continued on, not sparing him a back glance. Mark stares distastefully at the pretzels and tries to quell the queasiness in his stomach, the bile rising up his throat. After the performance, he had stumbled slightly when getting off the stage but chalked it up to exhaustion.

Now, with the pounding at the base of his skull and the frantic beating of his heart (a bird’s wing’s flutter in a gilded golden cage), he wonders if something else is wrong. 

He hops off the stool and steadies himself against the cool metal and leather, determination hardening to find Donghyuck. He weaves through the crowd of dancers on the floor and pushes past the various employees with mutters of “excuse me” or “sorry” and pauses at the edge of the dance floor to catch his breath. The pounding in his head becomes more insistent, twining like poison ivy vines through the mushiness of his brain, scrambling his thoughts. He turns around, and suddenly he can’t quite remember what he got up to do. He sways somewhere near the bathroom, hands trembling and knees shaking.

He finds with some level of curiosity that the bodies around him have become blurry and he can no longer hear the booming music playing above. He tries to take another step forwards and his head spins violently, so he feels his way for the wall and grasps onto it. He somehow makes his way to the bathroom door before desperately yanking it open and falling against the sink, retching up the contents of his stomach (there’s nothing to retch up, he’s only upheaving air) and clutching white-knuckled to the edge of the basin. He breathes in deeply, out slowly and recognizes the rabbit-fast pace of his heart, slamming against his ribcage at breakneck speed. All of his sensations begin to fade away and his fingers turn numb, losing their grip on the sink.

The last thing he sees before he passes out are the bright lights of the dressing mirror, artificial sunbeams that wrap around Mark’s heart.


	7. Chapter 7

_ “He’s out.” _

_ “Out?” _

_ “Yeah, out like my nephew’s deceased parrot.” _

A small noise, high and anxious, before footsteps pad away and then moments later, back.

_ “What do you mean, out? Why is he still out? It’s been twenty three hours. He should be back by now.” _

No response. Something thuds down beside him as Mark faintly registers a pair of cool hands, large and heavy, settle over his forehead, checking. A monitor beeps and something flashes behind his eyelids, the heavy drone of machine static buzzing holes in his ears. Mark makes a futile attempt to open his eyes but they’re heavy, eyelashes glued to the skin of his cheekbones and sticky from sweat. Taeyong’s voice enters his field of consciousness, unmistakably him and fretting, and Mark wants to say  _ I’m here I’m alright _ if only to make sure he won’t worry.

“Mark? Mark can you hear me?” 

He imagines prying away at the dirt and the grime covering his face and manages to wrench his eyes open a couple of milliliters, squinting in the harsh antiseptic light and breathing in the sterile scent of the air. Beside him, Taeyong scrambles to his feet and calls out both parts with rising desperation and mounting excitement. “Doc! Doc, he’s awake!”

Mark tries to lift his head but finds that it’s heavy, too heavy to lift so he lets it drag back forlornly on the sheets and closes his eyes again, welcoming the encapsulating darkness and the safety of the shadow.

Taeyong clasps his hand, the bones of his fingers rubbing against Mark’s as he rubs his hands together, evidently trying to warm up Mark’s frigid ones. “You’re at Kangbuk hospital right now, Mark,” he says, “Don’t worry. We’ll get you out of here soon.” He drops Mark’s hands and yells, “Doc!” with frustration prevalent in the tones of his voice as his footsteps leave the bed. Mark lets his hands hang limply off the sides of the cold metal and contemplates trying to sit up, but decides against it when he finds it’s a struggle to move his legs due to what he presumes to be IV bags of fluid attached to him.

Heavier, slower footsteps track to his side and Taeyong’s voice is replaced with one that is lower and raspier as hands pull back the covers over his body and snake behind his back, propping him up on the pillows. 

“Feeling alright, Mark?” He asks, and Mark lifts his chin in what he hopes is a nod and not a gesture of arrogance. He opens his eyes and blinks several times, unused to the brightness of the hospital lights and still blinking out the dregs of sleep.

An old, weathered face comes into focus as Mark turns his head and takes in the doctor. He’s a middle aged man, face prematurely lined with wrinkles and hair turning a soft silver from the stress of his job.

“My name is Jung Jaebeom,” he says, and Mark lifts his chin again in a nod. He continues, “You were out for presumably twenty three hours due to severe dehydration and moderate malnutrition coupled with intense exercise. This led your heart to mild orthostatica and low blood pressure, which may be why you fainted.” He stops here, and then glances at the door. “There’s a young man outside who’s been hanging by outside your room for the past day, but when we invited him in, he wouldn’t come. Would you like me to tell him you are awake now? I believe the name he gave me was Haechan.”

Mark’s eyes widen and he speaks for the first time, voice ragged from disuse and parched from lack of water. “Yes, please,” he says, and struggles to prompt himself up more. He thinks he must look pathetic, strung on a hospital bed like a rag doll with lank hair and grime covering every square inch of his body. It’s not a state he would wish to see Donghyuck in, but he also recognizes he’s in no condition to negotiate better terms. So he repeats, “Yes, please,” and hopes to God (it’s no longer hard to say these words) Donghyuck will come in.

Jaebeom pushes up, hands on knees and starts towards the door. When the door closes, Mark stiffens and tries to push back his hair from his face, heart beating so fast the heart monitor to his left begins to pick up speed. It seems like hours he waits there, with the beeping of the monitor reminding him of his anxiety, his companion. After a couple of more seconds, there’s suddenly shouting from outside the door and the sound of somebody slamming their fist into the wall. The door slams open and Donghyuck storms in, still clad in leather pants from the club, slung low over his hips and a shirt that drapes over his slender frame. It’s obvious he hasn’t had the time nor the intention to go home and change into more comfortable things, and while Mark is flattered by the gesture, he also can’t help but be stunned by how he looks. 

He registers that once he told Donghyuck he looked metanoiacal and he can’t help but remember that here, although now he’s not bound by God. And it reflects in every inch of his soul, the way it lights up and sparkles into a thousand fragments of windspun glass upon seeing Donghyuck, and it’s a feeling he would like to commit to memory.

But Donghyuck’s first move is to grab Mark by the collar of his shirt and pull him close to his face, eyes furious as he shakes him, hard. 

“Stupid, stupid, idiot boy,” he says, and there’s a tremble in his voice that betrays the ferocity of his actions. “Stupid idiot boy,” and Mark is confused because why isn’t he happy? Why isn’t he happy that Mark is finally awake? And there’s a lot of things that he doesn’t understand in this world, but he especially doesn’t get this; why his boy has got him by his neck and is shaking the life out of him in Kangbuk hospital while he flops around lifelessly. 

Donghyuck drops him and Mark’s head hits the metal of the backboard, sending reverberations up his skull. Donghyuck doesn’t seem to care, because he raises his hand. “You’re so selfish, so, so selfish, not caring at all what other people are going to think of you, doing whatever you want to do at whatever time you want to do it, a selfish, idiot boy--” And suddenly Taeyong’s there, holding Donghyuck by the wrists and folding him into his arms. Donghyuck screams and kicks and in his fury, knocks over the glass of water on the table to Mark’s right. Mark is too confused to comprehend what is going on and he can only press his head back into the pillows, hoping the echoes will stop bouncing around the hollows of his skull. 

Donghyuck wrenches himself out of Taeyong’s grasp and he’s crying silently, crystalline tears making their way down the tanned skin of his face and blooming across the white of the bedsheets. He climbs onto Mark and sits on his lap, hands finding their way to Mark’s face as he presses their lips together. It’s urgent and tastes salty but Mark finds he doesn’t mind; and somehow his hands can lift themselves to settle around Donghyuck’s hips and pull him closer. Donghyuck’s hands smooth down Mark’s jaw and over his shoulders, fisting into his shirt and pressing them together so there’s no space between them, and when Donghyuck opens his mouth Mark finds himself eagerly sucking Donghyuck’s lower lip into his mouth, nipping it gently. 

Donghyuck is the first to break away as he leans his head on Mark’s chest, the wetness of his tears staining the fabric there in round patches of wildflowers. Mark runs his fingers through Donghyuck’s hair and down his back, repetitive, slow motions that have Donghyuck quieting down, hiccuping instead into Mark’s shirt.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Mark is the first to say, fingers tangling in Donghyuck’s fading purple locks. 

Donghyuck lifts his head and rolls his eyes. “Get out of here and take a shower first, maybe then we’ll talk about it,” he says, and Mark hides a smile at Donghyuck’s unfounded attitude, always present, always there. It’s simple like this, the two of them, Taeyong and Jaebeom long have left. Mark combs his fingers through Donghyuck’s hair and Donghyuck leans into his touch like a cat, hands finding their way to Mark’s to play with his fingers. They stay like that for a while, until they hear a hesitant knock on the door and a voice that calls, “Are you two done?” And Donghyuck lifts his head again as a blush rides high on his cheeks. He clambers off Mark’s lap and Mark unconsciously reaches his hands out, but Donghyuck slips away and crouches down on the ground, picking up pieces of the glass that he had broken earlier. Mark wants to protest at him not to pick it up with his bare hands, but Jaebeom comes in with a stack of paper and a pen.

“I need you to read this over carefully,” he says. “It has all of the things you should and shouldn’t be doing for the next two weeks.” He pauses. “Now, I understand you were having issues keeping food down? I’m going to prescribe you some medication to help you with this. Hold on--” He scribbles something on a pad of paper. “I’m going to email this to your local pharmacy--or--you’re an idol, correct? I’ll email this to your company, then. Hold on--” Here, he notices Donghyuck on the floor. “Are you picking up the glass with your bare hands? Don’t do that, it will hurt.”

Donghyuck straights up and hides the small cuts on his hands behind his back. “It doesn’t hurt that much,” he says quietly. “I’ve felt worse before.” 

Mark feels the pangs in his heart as clearly as if it were yesterday, and it must show on his face because Donghyuck looks at him, and says, “It doesn’t hurt that much anymore, Jaebeom-ssi. Don’t worry about me. Let’s get Mark out of here first.” 

Jaebeom insists on getting Donghyuck a pair of gloves and a broom to clean up the mess anyway, and gets Mark to sign some papers before he sends them on his way. As they move out the door, he adds, “Don’t forget, it’s two doses each day until the vomiting ceases. Then it’s half a dose each day, like that, until you’re able to keep both food and water down consistently. Don’t hesitate to contact me if anything goes awry.” 

The ride back to the dorms is quiet, and Donghyuck leans his head on Taeil’s shoulder and falls asleep. Mark feels guilt overtake him as he realizes Donghyuck probably hadn’t slept for the last twenty three hours, instead choosing to stay awake and receive updates on Mark’s condition. He tries to focus on the guilt instead of the jealousy he feels upon seeing Donghyuck and Taeil together, even though it doesn’t mean anything (it doesn’t, right? It doesn’t mean anything.)

When Mark collapses on his bed later that night, Donghyuck slips in with him. It’s a subtle gesture, a small one, but when Donghyuck rolls over and slings his leg over Mark’s in his sleep, Mark can’t help but reach out and pull him closer, arms lightly encasing his waist. It’s domestic, but somehow, he finds he doesn’t mind.   
  


Hiraeth promotions are put on a halt for the time being, and while Mark feels bad about ruining what could have been a big break for the group, he feels relieved at the time he’s allotted to rest and recover. 

Nights are especially wonderful, because Donghyuck gets back from a day of promotions and climbs into Mark’s bed, borrowing his head into the sheets. He flips his body so that he lays on his back, and his chest rises up and down softly with every movement of his breath. Mark scoots closer and drapes an arm over Donghyuck’s waist, and he sighs softly.

“It’s not going to be able to work, like this.”

Mark freezes, hand halfway poised through in the motion of stroking through Donghyuck’s hair. “What isn’t?”

Donghyuck turns over so that he faces Mark. “You know. This hiding and sneaking around like this. Taeyong and Jaehyun and Jungwoo and everyone knows, but what’ll happen once it gets out to the public? It’ll ruin our careers.” And then, quietly, “I can’t let that happen.”

Mark turns so that he’s facing Donghyuck too, and desperation creeps into his voice. “We can quit the idol life, Hyuck. We can quit it and be done with this industry and leave SM forever. It’ll be just the two of us, me and you, you and I; we’ll be happy.” 

Donghyuck shakes his head ruefully, a small smile on his face. “Quit, and then what, Mark? It would kill you. It would destroy your passion -- you’d never be the same again. You know it. You know you’d never leave.”

And Mark wants to protest because for Donghyuck, he would do anything. For him, he would bring the sun down from the sky and cup it in his hands and breathe it into Donghyuck’s soul. He would cross the Red Sea to bring him back, would give himself up for Donghyuck. Would do anything, yet.

He knows that if he left the industry, he would lose his purpose. He would lose what makes him whole, what defines him, what has built up his character from a child into a boy into a young man, and that Donghyuck was right in every sense -- he can’t leave, not yet. So he remains silent and continues to run his fingers through Donghyuck’s hair, fingernails grazing his scalp lightly.

Donghyuck takes his silence as affirmation, and reaches his hands out to cup Mark’s cheeks. “But we’ll need time to think about it, yeah? It’s not a decision that can be made lightly.” He pauses. “And I don’t want to lose this, this thing between us. It’s changed my whole life.”

Mark exhales. “I would never even propose getting rid of this thing between us, Donghyuck. I would never.”

Donghyuck smiles wryly and takes his hands off Mark’s face. “You did, once upon a time, you know. You broke my heart.” He scoots closer to Mark and slings a leg over Mark’s hip, pressing their lower bodies together. “It’s time for you to pick the pieces up, glue them back together, tape them, whatever. It’s your responsibility, and I fully expect you to carry out the job.”

Mark swallows, and detangles his legs from Donghyuck’s. It is his fault, no matter which way anyone looks at it. Donghyuck hadn’t done anything in any sense, yet Mark’s problems had pushed the two of them away from each other countless times in the past. And he was right, in the sense that it is absolutely his responsibility. His responsibility to correct the mess he made, straighten out all the tassels on the picture frame and smoothen out the threads in the tapestry. So he detangles his legs from Donghyuck’s and swallows, hard.

“Give me your phone.”

Donghyuck looks at him in confusion, but nevertheless takes out his phone and unlocks it, handing it over. Mark presses in the numbers with shaking fingers, the movements worn into the tracks of his memory like wheelbarrow rungs through a dirt path. He brings the phone up to his ear.

_ “Hello?” _

Mark closes his eyes. “It’s Mark.”

Silence on the other end.

“I’m calling to tell you I’m done.”

_ “What do you mean, son?” _

“I’m done. I won’t come back home. We’re done.” His voice cracks, and he holds the receiver away so it can’t pick up on the sound. “I mean, I’m not going to church anymore.” He waits for the words to sink in before continuing, “I’m not going to church because there’s this boy. And yeah, he’s the boy you met earlier. I’m not going to church because he’s my everything, and I plan on keeping it that way. You don’t get to dictate my life anymore.”

Silence on the other end, and then, “ _ You’re going to go to hell for this, Mark. You’re going to hell for this and you don’t care?” _

Mark clenches the phone with white knuckled hands. “Maybe I’ll go to hell. Maybe I don’t care. But it’s worth it. It’s worth a thousand times what you could ever give me.  _ He’s _ worth a thousand times of what you could ever give me.”

The line on the other end goes dead, and Mark resists the urge to fling the phone across the room. Donghyuck immediately scrambles up, arms encasing Mark and he shakes and holds onto Donghyuck like a lifeline. 

“Shh,” Donghyuck soothes, “It will be okay, I promise you. It will be okay.”

Mark presses his hands to both sides of his ears and drops his face into Donghyuck’s shirt, voice muffled. “It’s not going to be alright. It’s never going to be alright again. Hyuck, don’t you understand -- I said I was done with the church. What if they tell? What if they tell the whole world? Then what?”

Donghyuck grabs Mark by the shoulders and holds him fiercely. “Fuck the world. Let them tell. Fans in America will support this. Korea’s the only place that’s fucked up. No matter what, we’ll get through this together, Mark. I promise you, it’s going to work out in the end.” 

Mark only shakes his head. “ _ I  _ fucked up, Donghyuck. I made a rash decision and I fucked up.” He finds Donghyuck’s fingers and holds them tightly. “Are you mad at me?”

Donghyuck’s eyes widen, and he pulls back in shock. “Mad? Why would I be mad? Mark, I’m proud of you for doing what you did. You’re so strong to be able to call them and tell them you’re done. You’re fighting those monsters in your head and you’re winning, slowly but surely every day -- I’m proud of you.”

Tears leak from the corners of his eyes, dripping off the angle of his cheekbones. “I don’t deserve you.”

Donghyuck gets on his knees and shakes Mark by the shoulders. His eyes are dark and his voice is low and furious. “Don’t ever say that again. Don’t ever say that again, you hear me?” His voice rises in volume. “Mark Lee, get your head out of your ass. Fuck, I need to get my head out of my ass too.” With that, he crushes Mark’s head against him. Mark thinks he sees the big dipper in the pattern of moles across Donghyuck’s neck, and when they fall asleep, finally, there are no dreams.

  
  
  


Two weeks pass, and Mark thinks he’s getting better. He’s able to keep light meals down as well as fluids, and while he still needs to quell the urge to hang his head over the toilet on the bad days, those days become fewer and fewer. 

It’s after a mealtime that he stumbles up from the table, clutching his stomach and hunched over. Donghyuck gets up immediately as well, chopsticks clattering onto the table with a clinking sound as he makes his way over to Mark. Mark pushes himself out of his chair and begins to run down the hallway, banging into the doorframe as he feels around blindly for the bathroom handle.

“Wait, Mark--”

Donghyuck fumbles for Mark’s hand and when he grasps it, he uses Mark’s momentum to pull the two of them around so that Mark’s back hits the bathroom door.

“Mark, what’s wrong? I thought--”

“Get off of me,” he grits out, managing to kick the door open and he falls inside and hangs his head over the toilet, the contents of his stomach retching up in a colorful mess of regurgitation and chewed bits. Donghyuck bites his lips until they turn white and falls to his knees, fingers dancing over Mark’s shoulder blades and rubbing slow, repetitive circles. When Mark’s stomach has stopped heaving, he fumbles around blindly for the flush and gets up, swaying on his feet. Donghyuck supports him as he feels around for his toothbrush and fills a cup with water.

“I thought -- I thought it was getting better? What happened just now?”

Mark shakes his head, slumping against the counter, toothbrush poised and ready. “I don’t know. Sometimes it’s bad, I guess.” Donghyuck remains silent as Mark brushes his teeth. When he’s finished, Donghyuck follows him upstairs and into his dorm room; stopping hesitantly by the door.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to be inside right now. Do you want to come up with me to the rooftop to get some fresh air?”

Mark would like nothing more than to collapse onto the bed and never get up, but some part of him registers that Donghyuck is right, and some fresh air would do him good. So he follows Donghyuck up the ladder that leads to the trapdoor to the flat roof of the building, and when he breathes in the fresh night air, it’s a cure. They find a place to sit behind the wall of the trapdoor, and stay there in companionable silence for a couple of moments. It’s relaxing, and Mark thinks they should do it more often. 

Donghyuck is the first to break the silence, side-eyeing Mark with a glint of mischievousness in his eyes. “Wanna try something out?” He asks, sparkles in his irises and sweetness in his voice and Mark thinks he could never get used to it; looking at Donghyuck like this. He nods and Donghyuck motions for them to stand up. 

“Hold still,” he whispers, and suddenly his lips are pressed against Mark’s and it’s soft and pretty and very much like Donghyuck. Mark’s hands instinctively settle around Donghyuck’s hips, pressing them together. Donghyuck makes a small surprised noise in the back of his throat, parting his mouth slightly, and Mark chooses it as his chance to suck Donghyuck’s plump lower lip into his mouth. Donghyuck’s hands snake around to bury themselves in Mark’s hair, and the feeling is so electrifying it sends tingles down to the tips of his fingers.

Mark kisses his way down Donghyuck’s neck and Donghyuck flings his head back, a whine escaping from him. Mark groans, and then swings the two of them around so that Donghyuck’s back is pressed against the wall.

“You drive me crazy, you know that, right?” Mark mumbles into the hollows of Donghyuck’s throat, sucking marks that will bloom purple and blue in the days to come.

Donghyuck laughs, gasping and airy. “I know, Mark. And I’m not even trying tonight.”

Mark growls and slips his hands into the back pockets of Donghyuck’s jeans and yanks him even closer, so that they’re pressed flush against each other. 

“Baby, you don’t even know how pretty you look. With my marks all over you, the stylists won’t be able to cover them.”

Donghyuck moans as Mark rolls his hips down, seeking friction. 

“Y-you like that, don’t you? You like the thought of th-them seeing.”

Mark rolls his hips down again, and Donghyuck cries out. “Baby, you don’t even know,” he says, and his fingers are underneath the waistband of Donghyuck’s jeans and rubbing circles into the sharp hipbones there. “You don’t even know.”

Donghyuck’s shirt is on the floor and Mark is kissing the constellations that dot his skin, small ones and big ones and lopsided ones but all beautiful. Donghyuck turns his face upwards towards Mark’s and Mark’s knees shake at the raw want and desire he finds there. He’s sure his eyes mirror back the same, because Donghyuck pulls on Mark’s shirt and says  _ take it off take it off _ and Mark pulls his shirt over his head and flings it somewhere else on the roof.

Mark slips a knee in between Donghyuck’s legs and the desperate whine he lets out makes Mark want to rip something apart. He leaves open-mouthed kisses along Donghyuck’s jawline and Donghyuck moans, loud and high, fingernails raking into Mark’s back (he’s sure they’re going to leave marks). 

“I’ll never forget this,” he whispers against Mark’s skin, “I’ll never forget the way this feels.” And Mark only responds by tugging on Donghyuck’s earlobe with his teeth, pupils blown wide and dark. 

“You look so hot like this,” Mark groans, “Be even hotter if you --”

“If I…?”

Mark smirks. “Nothing,” he says, and thrusts upwards. Donghyuck’s hands find their way to Mark’s hair and he pulls, hard, hard enough that Mark sees stars. It sends gasoline coursing through his paper veins and suddenly the world is on fire, and they’re falling, the two of them, falling, falling, falling.

The sky opens up and the rain pours down, drenching both of them within a matter of minutes, pasting Mark’s hair to his forehead as he impatiently pushes it away. Thunder claps and lightning flashes across the side of the building, illuminating Donghyuck’s face for a split millisecond, but it’s enough to see the state that he’s in, flushed and panting and head thrown back. Mark brings their lips together again and they breathe in each other, fingers desperately clutching and legs a tangle and so so close together. And Mark thinks that if this is the price to pay for Hell, he’d take it. Take it, a thousand times over.

  
  
  


“Manager-nim wants to see you.”

Johnny’s voice shocks Mark out of his stupor, currently hunched over his desk with pen and notebook in hand. He swivels around in his chair, legs jittering anxiously.

“Why?”

Johnny shakes his head, something unreadable in his expression. “You’ll see. Hurry over there, now.”

So Mark drops his pen and takes the all-too-familiar trek down to Lee Sooman’s office, and when he pushes open the polished wooden door, he freezes at the sight of Donghyuck sitting in one of the two chairs opposite to Sooman. 

And it’s bad, he realizes, it’s bad because Donghyuck’s face looks terrified and Mark connects the dots and oh, somebody must have contacted SM Entertainment. Somebody must have seen them on the roof all those nights ago, his father must have called up and told. His hand falls away from the door knob and he makes his way slowly to sit by Donghyuck, heart pounding and footsteps heavy. It’s the end, he knows it -- it’s the end of his career. He and Donghyuck are going to be kicked out and NCT is going to fall apart.

Sooman fixes them with a steely gaze. “I’ve noticed you two lately have been especially attached. What is the cause of this new development?”

Donghyuck shoots Mark a look, and then lifts his chin. And right before he says it, Mark knows -- he’s going to take the fall. He’s going to take the fall so Mark can remain in the industry, and Donghyuck will be kicked out. He opens his mouth to interject, but it’s too late because Donghyuck has already begun to speak.

“I did it, manager-nim. It’s my fault. I kissed him and he pushed me away but I wouldn’t leave him alone. I was too obsessed with him and controlling, I’m the one who initiated all the contact. I’m the one who reached out every single time.” Donghyuck pauses, taking a deep breath in -- but when he speaks again, the tremble enters his voice. “So let him stay, please. Do what you want with me, but let him stay.”

A silence, then --

Lee Sooman narrows his eyes. “What is this about?”

Mark interjects desperately, “He doesn’t know what he’s saying. That’s not the way it went at all--”

“It is the way it went and you know it. Excuse the interruption, manager-nim, please.”

Lee Sooman shakes his head. “I was under the impression that you were friends? I had originally called you here because I am looking for a new way to promote NCT’s publicity. Mark here originally had been paired off with Yuta, but it seems this was an unsuccessful match. But you two, you two are much more accepted by the public as a pair. I wanted to discuss today the possibilities of initiating a fake relationship between the two of you. But it seems there is a much more serious problem…?”

For the first time, Mark feels confusion lace his features. “You mean, you’re not kicking us out?”

Lee Sooman throws his hands up in the air. “Why would I kick you out? I don’t have all day. Will you accept or not?”

Donghyuck’s mouth drops open. He turns towards Mark, hope shining in his eyes, and --

Mark turns towards Lee Sooman. For the first time in weeks, he feels as if the sun has broken through. Here is a solution, handed to them on a silver platter and by none other than the manager himself. Donghyuck seems to feel the same, because he sits up straighter and clenches his fists in his lap. Mark knows there’s no going back, not after they make their decision. There’s no way they would be able to recover from something like this, and it may not even work (he hopes to god it will). But like so many things in the world, he’s learned, it’s worth a try -- so he opens his mouth and --

“Why pretend?”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!


End file.
